ATALEOFTHE 

DARK  CONTINENT 


40 


OF  CALIF.  LIBRARY.  U>S  A1WELE9 


STANLEY    GRAHAME 


STANLEY  GRAHAME 


BOY    AND    MAN. 


ot  %  §arh  Conihteni. 


BY 

GORDON    STABLES,    M.D.,    R.N. 

AUTHOR    OF 
'WILD    ADVENTURES    ROUND   THE    POLE,"    "THE   CRUISE   OF   THE   SNOWUIRIJ,"  I  TC, 


WITH  EIGHTEEN  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


NEW  YORK: 

A.    C.   ARMSTRONG    &    SON, 

714,   UROADWAY. 
1886 


Stack 
Annex 


TO  MY  BOLD   BOY, 

DONALD     GORDON, 

THIS  BOOK  IS  INSCRIBED. 


21336B6 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I.    • 

PAGE 

LIFE   IN  THK   GREAT   FOREST — BROTHER  AND  SISTER — 

THE  PARTING I 

CHAPTER  II. 

THE  "EIRDE"  HOUSE  ON  THE  MOOR — DAFT  JEAN 
WEIR — THE  SMUGGLERS — MURDOCH'S  POOL  .  •  .  15 

CHAPTER  III. 

STANLEY     CONTINUES      HIS    JOURNEY — AND      FINDS      A 

FRIEND— THE  GOOD  SHIP  "  TANTALLAN  CASTLE  "     .      29 

CHAPTER  IV. 

STANLEY'S  GLASGOW  COUSIN — "CHILDREN,  LOVE  ONE 
ANOTHER" — ON  THE  WIDE  ATLANTIC — AN  IDVLLIC 
LIFE  AT  SEA 39 

CHAPTER  V. 

STANLEY  FINDS  A  NEW  FRIEND — THK  JOURNEY  SOUTH 
— PHILADELPHIA — BALTIMORE — ARRIVAL  AT  THE 
OLD  PLANTATION 51 

CHAPTER  VI. 

BEAUMONT     PARK — DOWN    THE     RIVER — CRUISING     ON 

AJN    INLAND   SEA — THE    DARK   CONTINENT  .  .      6.} 


vi  Contents, 

CHAPTER  VII. 

PAGE 

A  NIGHT  ADVENTURE  ON  THE  INLAND  SEA  .  .          -75 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
LIFE  AT   BEAUMONT   PARK — PARTING       .          .          .  .89 

CHAPTER  IX. 

A  SAILOR  LAD  ON   HIS  BEAM  ENDS— HUNTER'S  HOWE — 

FRIENDS   IN  NEED  ARE   FRIENDS  INDEED          .          .    103 

CHAPTER  X. 

A  PORTION  OF  STANLEY'S  STORY  TOLD  BY  HIMSELF— 
THE  FATE  OF  THE  "  IVANHOE "  .  .  .  .  II? 

CHAPTER  XI. 

BY  THE  CLYDE — THE  SCENE  CHANGES — H.M.S.  "  TONI- 
TRU"  IN  A  GALE  OFF  THE  COAST  OF  AFRICA — 
PROSPECTS  OF  A  FIGHT I2Q 

CHAPTER  XII. 

SUNRISE  ON  THE  SEA — A  SAIL  ON  THE  WEATHER  BOW 

—CLEARING  FOR  ACTION — THE   FIGHT  .    143 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

STORMING  THE  POOP — VICTORY — THE  'TWEEN  DECKS 
OF  A  SLAVE  DHOW — CAPTAIN  MACDERMOTT  OF 
THE  "SEYD  PASHA" 157 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE     TORNADO — THE    CAPTAIN    SENT    TO     BED    TO    BE 

OUT   OF   THE  WAY — AN   UNLOOKED-FOR  VISITOR      .    I?l 


Contents.  vii 

CHAPTER  xv. 

PACB 

LIFE    IN    THE    DHOW — CAPTURE     OF    A    SLAVER — BOY 

GREEN  MAKES  HAY  WHILE  THE   SUN  SHINES  .    185 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

TRIED    FOR     PIRACY — DEATH    SENTENCE — BOY    GREEN 

AGAIN 199 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

IN      THE     DUNGEON  —  SAMBO      TO     THE     FORE  —  THAT 

UBIQUITOUS    BOY   GREEN   NOT   FAR    BEHIND    .  .211 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

PREPARATIONS  FOR   THE  MARCH    INTO    THE    INTERIOR 

— BIVOUAC    IN   ZANZIBAR   WOODS       ....   225 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

EN   ROUTE  FOR  THE   WILDERNESS — "BUMPING"    OVER 

THE    BAR — LAMOO 239 

CHAPTER  XX. 

BOY    GREEN    BEARDS   THE   LION   IN   HIS  DEN,  AND   ENDS 

BY   MAKING  A   DISCOVERY 253 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

CAMP      LIFE — 'A      NIGHT      ADVENTURE — THE      DISMAL 

SWAMP— ATTACKED    BY    CROCODILES         .  .  .    267 

CHAPTER  XXII. 

FIGHTING  THE  CROCODILES — THE  HOME  OF  THE 
GORILLAS — "THE  KING  WITH  THE  CLICK"  — 
XEARIXG  THE  LAND  OF  THE  MAKALALA  .  .  281 


v  iii  Contents. 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 

PACE 

THE  LAKE  OF  THE  WIZARD  WATERS — IDA'S  ISLE — 
FATHER  AND  DAUGHTER — SIGNS  OF  THE  COMING 
STRUGGLE 293 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

FIGHT  WITH  DWARFS — STORMING  OF  IDA'S  ISLE  BY 
SAVAGES — REPULSE — BOY  GREEN  TO  THE  FORE — 
WAR  IN  LAMBABEELA'S  LAND  ....  309 

CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE  BATTLE  ON  IDA'S  ISLE — ARRIVAL  OF  BOY  GREEN 
AND  FLIGHT  OF  THE  MAKALALAS  —  BACK  IN 
N'TOOBA'S  LAND 325 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 
HOMEWARD  BOUND — THE  CRYSTAL  BOAT— A  PLEASANT 

SURPRISE    .  339 


LIFE  IN  THE  GREAT  FOREST     BRO'l HER 
SISTER— THE  PAR'llNG 


CHAPTER  I. 

LIFE    IN    THE    GREAT    FOREST — BROTHER    AND    SISTER  — 
THE    PARTING. 

'"THHE  great  forest. 
_1_        The  forest  of  Cairntrie. 

Far  away  in  the  very  centre  of  the  Scottish  Highlands 
it  lies ;  so  broad  and  wide  is  it,  that  you  might  journey  for 
days  and  days  on  its  outskirts,  yet  not  be  able  to  find  your 
way  around  it.  Lost  in  its  depths  and  you  would  be  lost 
indeed.  For  unless  some  friendly  keeper  found  you  and 
became  your  guide,  the  dreary  winds  would  sing  your 
dirge,  and  your  bones,  unburied,  might  bleach  for  months. 

In  this  great  forest  are  hills  and  lakes  and  streams,  and 
it  is  the  home  par  excellence  of  the  red  deer  of  Scotland. 
Wild  and  free  are  they  as  the  unchangeable  mountains 
from  which  they  gaze  proudly  down  on  their  woody 
domains.  It  was  of  some  such  place  as  this  that  Professor 
Wilson,  poet  and  angler,  penned  these  lines  : 

"  How  lonesome  and  wild  !  yet  the  wildness  is  rife 
With  the  stir  of  enjoyment— the  spirit  of  life. 
The  plad  fish  leaps  up  in  the  heart  of  the  lake, 
Whose  depths  at  the  sudden  plunge  sullenly  quake. 
Elate  on  the  fern-bush  the  grasshopper  sings, 
And  away  in  the  midst  of  his  roundelay  springs  ; 
While  up  on  yon  hill,  in  silence  remote, 
The  cuckoo  unseen  is  repeating  his  note." 

They  tell  me  that  the  forest  of  Cairntrie  is  also  the  home 
of  a  race  of  beings  still  more  interesting  than  red  deer. 
That  banished  by  civilization  from  the  woody  dells  and 


4  Stanley  Grahame. 

dingles  of  merrie  England,  the  fairies  have  migrated  to  this 
romantic  region.  That  here  in  straths  and  glens,  in  many 
a  ferny  glade,  in  many  a  birchen  hollow,  they  still  may  be 
seen  holding  their  revels  under  the  midnight  stars,  or 
dancing  by  the  light  of  the  glowworm's  torch. 

Leaving  braes  that  are  green  with  the  rustling  foliage  of 
the  silvery  birch,  or  purple  with  the  heather's  bloom,  a 
river  plunges  into  the  gloom  of  the  pine  forest  and  dis- 
appears. And  if  you  follow  its  winding  course,  you  will 
find  it  at  times  flowing  onwards  dark  and  dreamily  beneath 
the  lofty  trees,  as  if  loth  to  leave  their  leafy  shade  ;  at 
times  rushing  along  with  heedless  speed  among  rocks  and 
over  boulders,  as  if  in  sudden  fear  of  the  lonesome  gloom 
around  it,  and  anon  dashing  in  pearly  foam  through  a 
narrow  chasm,  then  falling  down,  down,  down  for  hundreds 
of  feet  into  a  dark  pool,  the  black  depth  of  which  one 
shudders  even  to  think  of.  But  sweetest  flowerets,  born 
of  the  forest's  balmy  breath,  and  nurtured  by  the  rainbowed 
spray  of  the  cascade,  nod  over  the  rocky  walls  of  the  abyss, 
and  gladden  even  that. 

Come  with  me  into  the  forest,  for  here  we  shall  find  our 
hero,  young  Stanley  Grahame,  and  his  little  sister  Ailie. 

Here  is  man}7  a  pleasant  spot,  many  a  ferny  flowery 
nook,  many  a  leafy  labyrinth  green-carpeted  with  moss 
and  odorous  with  the  scent  of  pines.  We  may  miss  the 
song  of  the  nightingale,  but  our  ears  will  drink  in  the 
ringing  notes  of  the  speckled  mavis  and  the  plaintive  piping 
of  the  blackbird,  and  we  may  listen  to  the  mournful  croodle 
of  the  cushat,  deep  hid  in  the  thicket  of  spruce,  and  the 
wild  scream  of  the  curlew  hovering  in  mid  air.  We  may 
see  the  nests  of  the  hoody  crow,  the  brown  owl,  the  hawk, 
and  the  solitary  capercailzie,  and  at  times,  far  up  in  heaven's 
blue,  we  may  catch  glimpses  of  an  immense  bird  slowly 
circling  round — the  great  golden-headed  eagle.  Our  foot- 
steps shall  startle  the  bounding  red  deer,  but  the  leveret 
and  coney  will  scarcely  scurry  away  at  our  approach  ;  and 


In  the  Great  Forest.  5 

as  we  push  our  way  through  the  branching  breckans,  from 
its  little  den  cautiously  shall  peer  forth  the  pole-cat  and  eye 
us  curiously  as  we  pass. 

Oh !  the  world  of  life  that  is  to  be  found  in  this  beautiful 
forest,  on  its  mountains  and  hills,  in  its  tarns  and  streams, 
on  every  branch  and  twig  and  leaf,  beneath  the  ferns,  and 
in  the  very  flower-bells  themselves.  If  you  wandered  here 
as  often  as  I  do,  and  if  you  wandered  but  to  wonder  and 
admire  and  worship  the  Creator  through  His  creatures, 
then,  instead  of  fearing  and  fleeing  from  you,  every  animal, 
from  the  gentle  dormouse  to  the  mountain  deer,  would  love 
you  and  look  upon  you  as,  like  themselves,  a  denizen  of  the 
woods. 

But  where  is  our  hero  ?  Where  are  Stanley  Grahame  and 
his  sister  Ailie. 

Let  us  shout  for  him  until  the  forest  resounds  again. 

"Stanley  !  Stanley  !  Stanley  Grahame,  where  are  you  ?" 

But  Stanley  answers  not.  For,  to  tell  you  the  truth, 
Stanley  Grahame  is  nowhere  on  the  face  of  the  earth.  Nor 
his  sister  either. 

Let  us  look  for  them  elsewhere. 

Hullo!  what  is  this  leaning  against  the  tree?  A  gun, 
I  declare ! 

And  what  is  this  lying  on  the  mossy  sward  ?  Why,  it 
is  a  hat ! 

And  to  whom  do  the  gun  and  the  hat  belong?  To  our 
hero  and  Ailie,  if  I  am  not  much  mistaken.  But  where  in 
the  name  of  mystery  have  they  got  to  ?  Well,  I  can  tell 
you.  It  was  a  Saturday,  you  must  know,  and  so  Stanley 
had  not  to  go  to  school,  and  as  he  always  spent  his  holidays 
in  the  great  forest  of  Cairntrie,  his  sister  and  he  left  their 
mother's  humble  cottage  quite  early  in  the  morning,  he 
with  his  gun,  she  with  her  little  fishing-rod  and  basket, 
and  they  had  been  wandering  about  all  the  day,  and  a 
lovely  summer's  day  it  was.  They  had  caught  not  a  few 
trout,  they  had  found  many  a  sweetly  pretty  fern,  and 


6  Si  an  Ley  Grahame. 

captured  some  of  the  rarest  butterflies  and  moths.  They 
had  dined  in  the  forest  too ;  they  had  built  a  fire  in  a  rocky 
corner,  and  fried  their  fish  gipsy-fashion,  and  their  dessert 
was  wild  strawberries,  which  they  enjoyed  very  much. 
But  they  had  grown  tired  at  last  of  roaming  about,  and  fell 
very  glad  to  throw  themselves  down  to  rest  by  the  banks 
of  a  clear  purling  brooklet,  which,  for  the  most  part,  wenl 


singing  along  over  its  pebbly  bed,  but  subsided  every  here 
and  there  into  a  quiet  sandy-bottomed  pool.  It  was  near 
such  a  pool  that  they  had  sat  down,  and  for  a  time  they 
had  watched  with  interest  the  antks  of  a  whole  crowd 
of  minnows,  who  were  mobbing  a  big  water-beetle,  and 
apparently  laughing  at  his  ungainly  efforts  to  escape,  until 
at  long  last  a  large  round-nosed  red-speckled  trout  came 
sailing  into  the  very  centre  of  them,  like  a  man-o'-wai 


Brother  and  Sister.  7 

frigate  among  a  fleet  of  fishing  smacks,  and  they  darted  ofl 
in  all  directions. 

Then, 

"  I  say,  Ailie,"  Stanley  had  said. 

"  Yes,  Stan,"  Ailie  had  answered. 

"  Let  us  climb  away  up  into  the  topmost  branches  of 
that  green  beech-tree." 

"Come  on,  then,  Stan!"  Ailie  had  cried;  "I'll  go 
first." 

What  a  world  of  foliage  was  there  !  What  a  sea  of  sighing 
leaves,  glistening  in  the  sunshine,  fanned  by  the  summer 
air,  and  musical  with  the  hum  of  wild  bees  !  They  had 
soon  lost  sight  of  the  earth  altogether,  but  had  continued 
to  climb  and  climb  as  long  as  they  thought  the  branches 
would  bear  them ;  and  then,  side  by  side,  the  brother's  arm 
around  his  sister's  waist,  they  had  sat  them  down  on  a 
bough. 

My  hero  and  Ailie  are  there,  then,  when  I  first  introduce 
them  to  your  notice.  They  have  quite  lost  sight  of  the 
earth  long  ago,  and,  indeed,  they  have  forgotten  all  about 
it.  They  know,  I  daresay,  that  it  is  away  down  there, 
somewhere  beneath  those  clouds  of  living  green  ;  but  what 
is  the  lower  world,  with  all  its  cares  and  its  sorrows,  to 
them  ?  They  are  in  a  little  leafy  heaven  of  their  own,  and 
as  happy  and  contented  as  any  of  the  great  drowsy-looking 
velvety  bees  that  are  droning  around  them. 

I  wonder  that  the  hum  of  the  myriad  bees,  mingling  with 
the  whispering  of  the  summer  breeze,  does  not  send  them 
both  to  sleep.  But  I  think  they  are  quite  alive  to  the  fact 
that  dropping  off  to  sleep  would  mean  dropping  off  the 
branch,  and  so  they  are  wide  enough  awake. 

And  well  they  may  be,  for  Stanley  is  telling  his  little 
sister,  who  is  gazing  up  into  his  face  with  round,  wondering 
eyes,  an  oft-repeated  tale,  but  one  she  is  never  tired  of 
listening  to. 

"  And  you  know,  Ailie,"  the  boy  is  saying,  "  you  were 


S  Stanley   Grahame. 

only  a  baby  then ;  you're  seven  now,  you  know,  and  I  am 
nearly  a  man — I'm  twelve.  But  oh,  Sissie !  I  will  never 
forget  that  terrible  night  as  long  as  I  live !  What  a  lovely 
farm  ours  was!  even  its  ruins  are  lovely  still !  We  used 
to  have  ten  piirs  of  horses  working  together  in  one  field, 
Ailie.  Then  father  was  so  big  and  strong  and  beautiful. 
But  people  often  said  the  steading  was  built  too  close  to 
the  river.  Well,  Ailie  dear,  I  was  in  the  harvest-field, 
when  suddenly  it  grew  all  dark,  and  the  thunder  began  tc 


roll  and  the  lightning  to  flash,  and  then  it  came  on  to  rain 
and  hail.  Oh  !  such  awful,  awful  rain  !  And  all  the  after- 
noon it  rained  and  poured,  and  the  night  closed  in  all  black 
and  dismal.  I  had  gone  to  bed,  but  I  was  awakened  at 
midnight  with  the  shout,  '  The  river  is  coming  down ! 
1  think  I  must  have  been  washed  out  of  bed,  but  my 
mother  caught  me — and  she  had  you,  too,  Ailie — and  then 
she  fled  with  us  up  on  to  higher  ground,  and  there  we 
stood  all  the  livelong  night  in  the  torrents  of  rain  and  in 


Brother  and  Sister.  g 

the  darkness,  and  mother  praying  for  poor  father,  who  was 
not  with  us,  and  whom  we  never,  never  saw  again.  He  is 
in  heaven,  Ailie,  and  maybe  he  sees  us  here  at  this  very 
mcment.  Well,  Sissie,  in  the  morning  we  could  see 
nothing  of  the  farm,  nothing  at  all  anywhere  but  the  great 
rolling  river  that  had  risen  higher  than  the  houses  and 
higher  than  the  tallest  trees,  Ailie.  Oh  !  it  was  fearsome, 
Sissie — fearsome !" 

The  boy  shudders,  and  clasps  his  sister  closer  to  his 
side. 

"  But,"  says  his  little  comforter,  "  we  are  very  happy 
now  in  our  cottage,  aren't  we,  Stan?  And  we  have 
mother  and  Collie  and  pussy  and  the  two  cows.  And 
father  ts  in  heaven,  isn't  he,  Stan  ?" 

"  Yes,  Sissie,  I'm  sure  of  that,"  says  Stan. 

Then  there  is  a  silence  for  a  time,  and  the  children  watch 
the  bees. 

Presently  the  sweet,  clearvoice  of  Ailie  breaks  it.  "What 
will  you  do  when  you  are  a  man,  Stanley  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  "  says  Stanley,  "  I  mean  to  do  something  long, 
long  before  I  am  a  man.  Indeed,  I  ought  to  do  something 
now,  for  I  am  very,  very  tall  for  my  age." 

"  You  are  very,  very  handsome,"  adds  his  sister. 

"  I  am  going  to  be  a  sailor,  Sissie,  and  travel  all  over  the 
world  and  see  strange  countries,  and  have  such  fun — just 
the  same  as  Tom  Cringle  had,  you  know ;  and  wild  adven- 
tures like  Stanley  and  Livingstone  and  Robinson  Crusoe  ! " 

"  Oh,  but  not  the  island,  Stan  !  "  says  Ailie. 

"  Well,"  replies  Stan,  thoughtfully,  "  perhaps  not  the 
island,  although  that  would  be  very  nice  too." 

"  But  then,  Stan,"  persists  Ailie,  "  of  course  you  won't 
go  away  to  leave  us  for  a  long,  long,  long  time  yet.  Say 
'  of  course  not ! '  Stan.'' 

"  Well,  Sissie,  I  don't  know ;  it  might  be  sooner  than  we 
think,  because  there  is  Uncle  Mackinlay  out  in  America, 
and  he  is  so  rood  and  kind,  and  he  has  promised  to  '  make 


IO  Stanley   Grahame. 

a  man  of  me,'  Ailie;    and  if  he  were  to  send   foi    me 
would  have  to  go  at  once." 

Ailie  creeps  close  to  him  and  shudders. 

"  Look  !  look  !  "  she  cries.     "  Look  at  the  evil  bird  !  " 

"  Craik — craik— craik  !  "  screams  a  magpie  on  a  bough 
close  beside  them.  "  Craik — craik — craik — craik  !  " 

Stanley  pitches  his  hat  at  it,  and  the  bird  disappears. 
So  does  the  hat. 

"  I  should  die,  Stanley,  if  you  were  going  away  soon." 

"  Providence  will  protect  me,  Ailie,  wherever  I  go,"  says 
Stanley,  stoutly.  "  And  I'll  come  back  rich,  Ailie.  Then 
we  will  take  another  big  farm  like  dear  father's,  and  mother 
and  you  and  I  will  be  so  happy,  won't  we,  Sissie  ?  " 

But  Sissie  did  not  answer. 

From  the  language  in  which  they  speak  the  reader  will 
perceive  that  these  two  children  were  a  stamp  above  the 
ordinary  boys  and  girls  one  meets  in  a  Highland  glen. 
They  were.  For,  poor  though  their  widowed  mother  was, 
she  spared  no  pains  with  their  education.  Mrs.  Grahame 
had  married  young.  She  was  the  daughter  of  a  clergyman, 
and  wedded  a  wealthy  farmer.  They  prospered  in  life, 
and  their  existence  was  a  very  happy  one,  until  the  awful 
night  when  the  river  rose  and  swept  away  servants  and 
master,  cattle  and  harvest,  leaving  only  desolation  and  ruin 
where  peace  and  plenty  had  smiled  before 

By  the  help  of  kindly  neighbours  the  widow  had  been 
enabled  to  take  the  small  cottage  by  the  forest  edge  which 
they  now  occupied,  and  by  the  help  of  their  cows  and  croft 
they  managed  to  eke  out  a  humble  existence. 

The  great  lord  who  owned  the  wide  forest  of  Cairntrie 
promised  to  take  Stanley  Grahame  as  a  keeper,  but  the 
boy's  proud  spirit  rebelled  against  the  idea.'  He  dearly 
loved  a  free  life,  it  is  true.  And  he  loved  nature  in  all  her 
varied  moods.  There  was  not  a  flower,  there  was  not  a 
weed  he  was  not  familiar  with  ;  there  was  not  a  creeping 
thing  he  could  not  have  told  you  all  about,  nor  an  animal 


The  Parting.  1 1 

in  brae-land,  field,  or  forest,  nor  a  fish  in  lake  or  stream, ' 
which  he  knew  not  the  habits  of.  And  as  for  birds,  he 
knew  them  all  individually  and  minutely.  Firstly,  he  could 
tell  you  the  name  of  any  bird  from  listening  a  few  seconds 
to  its  notes ;  secondly,  he  could  tell  any  bird  from  its 
eggs  ;  and,  thirdly,  he  could  tell  any  bird  from  the  build  of 
its  nest  without  seeing  either  eggs  or  owner. 

He  was,  indeed,  a  roving  boy,  but  withal  a  good  boy, 
although  somewhat  dreamy  and  poetic;  he  never  stirred 
abroad  without  a  book. 

I  wish  I  could  linger  here  a  little  longer,  and  tell  you 
more  about  Stanley  Grahame's  peaceful  life  at  home,  for 
wild  and  stormy  are  the  scenes  through  which  he  has  to 
pass  in  the  future  that  lies  before  him. 

Suffice  it  to  say  that  Stanley  loved  his  home,  his  mother 
and  sister,  oh  !  so  dearly. 

And  what  would  a  sailor  be  who  had  no  home  to  think 
of?  What  would  he  be  worth  ?  Worth  !  Why,  simply 
the  value  of  a  reckless,  careless  man,  without  a  stake  in 
life.  But  a  boy  at  sea  or  in  a  foreign  land  will  be  apt  to  be 
brave  and  good  and  true  if  he  has  a  home  for  his  thoughts 
to  revert  to,  if  he  knows  that  kind  hearts  far  away  love  and 
pray  for  him.  Would  a  boy  who  has  such  a  home  fear  to 
do  his  duty?  No.  "What  would  they  say  in  England?" 
Would  he  show  the  white  feather  ?  or  would  his  cheeks 
blanch  with  terror  on  the  stormiest  day  at  sea  that  ever 
blew?  No;  his  comrades  would  notice  it,  and  "What  would 
they  say  in  England  ?  " 

Evening  was  creeping  o'er  the  glen  when  hand  in  hand 
Stanley  and  his  sister  walked  up  through  the  garden  and 
entered  their  mother's  cottage. 

They  found  her  in  tears. 

There  was  a  letter  lying  on  the  table,  to  which  she  merely 
pointed,  and  Ailie's  wee  heart  seemed  to  stand  still  as 
Stanley  read  it.  It  was  from  Captain  Mackinlay,  the  uncle 
in  America 


1 2  Stanley   Grahame. 

The  time  for  parting  had  come,  then.  Stanley  was 
almost  ordered  to  get  ready  at  once  and  leave  home  to  join 
his  uncle.  What  could  he  do  but  obey  ?  What  could  his 
widowed  mother  do  ?  It  was  very  hard  to  part  with  her 
boy,  but  then  parting  had  to  come  sooner  or  later,  and  she 
would  not,  dared  not,  spoil  his  prospects. 

"  No,"  she  said  to  herself;  "  love  is  no  love  at  all  that 
cannot  make  a  sacrifice.  My  boy  must  go." 

We  will  pass  over  the  week  or  two  that  followed  ere 
Stanley  Grahame's  departure.  Probably  the  bitterest  part 
of  the  poor  mother's  grief  lay  in  the  sad  fact  that  she  could 
not  accompany  her  son  even  as  far  as  Aberdeen.  But 
poverty  and  home  duties  forbade.  He  must  go  all  alone. 

It  was  early  dawn  on  a  lovely  morning — the  morning  of 
Stanley  Grahame's  departure  to  begin  the  battle  of  life  in 
earnest.  The  blackbirds  had  not  long  begun  to  pipe,  the 
chaffinches  were  trilling  their  bold,  bright  songs,  the 
cushats  croodling  in  the  spruce-fir  coppice.  For  through 
the  widely-opened  casement  of  our  young  hero's  bedroom 
came  the  gentle  sighing  of  the  wind  among  the  pine-trees  ; 
that  and  the  song  of  birds  mingled  with  the  distant  bleating 
of  sheep  were  all  the  sounds  to  be  heard. 

Early  though  it  was  the  boy  lay  wide  awake,  although 
his  eyes  were  closed  and  he  seemed  to  sleep. 

Half  an  hour  passes  away,  then  the  door  which  had 
been  a  little  ajar  slowly  opens,  and  there  stands  a  figure 
one  might  have  taken  for  Stanley's  guardian  angel. 

It  is  Ailie. 

All  draped  in  white  is  the  winsome  wee  lassie,  with 
naked  feet,  and  hair  floating  over  her  shoulders.  Her 
mournful  big  blue  eyes  look  none  the  less  lovely  because 
there  are  signs  of  recent  tears  about  them.  She  stands  for 
a  moment  as  if  undecided,  then  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  the 
boy's  face  she  timidly  advances,  and  then  Stanley  opens  his 
eyes  and  their  glances  meet.  One  look  at  that  sad  pale 
face  tells  the  brother  all.  She  has  never  closed  an  eye, 


The  Parting.  13 

she  has  been  weeping,  she  has  been  thinking  only  of  him — • 
thinking  and  praying ;  and  now  she  has  come  to  be  near 
him  for  a  portion  of  the  short  time  that  is  before  them. 

She  thought  he  was  asleep,  but  seeing  he  is  awake  the 
child  sister  advances  rapidly,  and  sinks  into  the  chair  by 
his  pillow,  and  over  this  pillow  both  arms  are  flung  in  the 
wild  abandonment  of  grief;  her  head  sinks  on  her  arms, 
and  she  sobs  as  if  her  heart  would  break.  The  brother 
does  not  attempt  in  words  to  stem  this  torrent  of  sorrow. 
How  could  he  ?  Poor  lad,  he  is  nearly  breaking  down 
himself.  All  the  day  before  he  had  been  trying  to  keep  up 
her  heart  by  imaginary  tales  of  all  the  fine  countries  he 
would  see,  and  all  the  fine  things  he  would  bring  home,  and 
how  often  he  would  write,  and  how  happy  they  would  be 
when  he  returned ;  but  all  this  is  past  now,  so  he  does  not 
strive  to  stay  her  tears.  He  only  draws  one  of  her  arms 
round  his  neck  and  gently  pats  her  on  the  shoulder  as  a 
mother  does  her  baby.  Her  sobs,  by-and-by,  get  less 
violent,  the  heart  has  been  somewhat  relieved ;  but  short, 
quick  sighs  still  testify  to  the  violence  of  her  grief. 

Without  moving  from  his  position,  or  disturbing  the 
little  arm  entwined  about  his  neck,  the  boy  with  his  right 
hand  pulls  off  from  his  own  bed  the  big  Scotch  plaid — it 
was  their  father's — and  draws  it  round  his  sister's  form. 

The  blackbird  flutes,  the  cushat  croodles  in  the  spruce 
thicket,  then  the  sun  glints  down  the  glen  and  floods  it 
all  with  beauty,  gilding  the  green  of  the  lofty  firs,  and 
silvering  the  bosom  of  the  swiftly-flowing  river ;  more  birds 
awake  and  join  their  voices  to  swell  the  morning  rnelod}^, 
and  the  wind  still  sighs  softly  through  the  pine-trees  with 
a  sound  like  falling  water,  but  the  brother  and  sister  sleep. 

And  when  the  mother  comes  at  last  to  the  room  to  see 
if  her  boy  be  stirring,  she  finds  them  so,  and  steals  awa> 
on  quietest  tiptoe  to  prepare  the  morning  meal. 


II. 


THE  "EIRDE"  HOUSE  ON  THE  MOOR— DAFT  JEAN 
WEIR— THE  SMUGGLERS— MURDOCH'S  POOL. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  "  EIRDE"  HOUSE  ON  THE  MOOR — DAFT  JEAN  WEIR — THE 
SMUGGLERS MURDOCH'S  POOL. 

THE  summer's  day  was  wearing  rapidly  to  a  close,  for 
though  it  had  been  warm  and  sunny,  with  every 
prospect  of  a  long  twilight,  no  sooner  had  the  sun  sunk 
behind  the  western  mountains  than  great  grey  clouds  had 
arisen  and  quite  obscured  the  sky.  No  moon  or  stars  could 
shine  to-night ;  that  leaden  canopy  boded  only  an  inky 
darkness — a  darkness,  too,  that  would  be  felt ;  for  as  Stan- 
ley Grahame,  all  by  himself  in  the  midst  of  that  wild 
hobgoblin  moorland,  turned  his  face  upwards  a  drop  or 
two  of  rain  fell  on  his  warm  cheek  and  brow. 

"  Only  heat  drops,"  he  said  to  himself;  "  it  won't  be  rain, 
and  the  village  can't  be  far  off  now  ;  I  shall  soon  reach  it." 

But  had  he  been  a  sailor  he  would  have  thought  dif- 
ferently ;  he  would  have  seen  signs  in  the  clouds  of  a 
coming  storm ;  for  wicked  wee  water-dogs  were  scudding 
across  the  sky,  and  out  from  the  level  blackness  near  the 
horizon  came  ever  and  anon  many  a  little  puff  of  greyish 
mist,  for  all  the  world  as  if  someone  were  firing  a  rifle  out 
of  the  cloud  and  speedily  retiring  after  every  shot. 

How  came  Stanley  here  all  by  himself  in  the  middle  of 
this  dreary  moorland  ?  This  is  a  question  that  is  easily 
answered. 

A  walk  of  ten  miles  from  his  own  door  would  have  taken 
him  to  the  mouth  of  the  glen,  where  the  mail  coach  passed, 

2 


i8 


Stanley  Grahame. 


and  hence  his  journey  to  Aberdeen,  called  the  granite  city, 
would  have  been  both  easy  and  pleasant.  But  Stanley  was 
not  burdened  with  overmuch  money,  so  he  had  determined 
to  send  his  box  on  with  the  carrier  and  walk.  He  was  very 
young,  and  for  his  age  as  supple  and  strong  as  one  of  the 
red  deer  in  the  forest  of  Cairntrie.  It  was  only  a  journey 
after  all  of  sixty  miles ;  and  before  he  started,  stick  in  hand, 
he  got  all  the  directions  his  memory  could  retain  from  old 


Ewen  McPhee,  once  his  father's  shepherd.  Indeed  that 
worthy  had  accompanied  him  for  five  long  miles  over  the 
hills,  and  then  with  his  crook  he  had  pointed  out  to  him 
the  way  the  young  pilgrim  should  take. 

They  were  on  the  very  summit  of  the  brae-land  at  the 
time.  It  was  early  morning,  and  taking  one  last  lingering 
look  behind  him,  Stanley  could  see  all  the  charming  glen 
spread  out  before  him  like  some  beautiful  scene  in  a  phan- 


On  the  Moor.  19 

t  ismagoria.  Woods,  and  wilds,  and  meadows  green,  and 
tl:e  bonnie  bright  river  wimplinj  through  it  all,  arid  his 
ir.other's  cottage  among  the  broom,  and  the  blue  smoke 
curling  up  from  it  and  floating  away  over  the  pine-trees. 
Was  it  any  wonder  that  a  big  lump  rose  up  in  his  throat 
and  well-nigh  choked  him  ?  Was  it  any  wonder  that  the 
directions  old  Ewen  was  trying  so  earnestly  to  instil  into 
him  were  for  the  most  part  lost  upon  the  boy  ? 

Only  the  thought  that  he  was  going  away  into  the  world 
to  make  his  fortune  sustained  him.  The  words  of  his 
mother's  blessing  still  rang  in  his  ears,  and  he  knew  that 
she  and  his  sister  Ailie  would  always,  always  pray  for  him, 
so  he  gulped  down  the  lump  in  his  throat,  dashed  his  sleeve 
only  once  across  his  eyes,  then  caught  Ewen  by  his  horny 
hand  and  bade  him  adieu. 

The  tears  were  trickling  down  the  old  man's  furrowed 
face,  he  made  no  attempt  to  hide  them  or  to  wipe  them 
away.  He  just  let  them  fall.  But  his  parting  advice  to 
Stanley  was  a  queer  jumble,  though  quite  characteristic  of 
men  of  his  class  in  the  Scottish  Highlands. 

He  pressed  Stanley's  soft  hand  between  his  own  two  hard 
ones  as  he  said, — 

"  And  it's  och  !  and  och  !  may  the  Lord  sustain  and  keep 
you,  my  dear  boy — and  it's  down  through  Glenbucket 
you'll  go,  Stanley  —and  you'll  pray  to  Him  morning  and 
night — till  you  come  to  the  castle  o'  Towie  and  sec  the  big 
hill  o'  Coreen.  And  it's  och  !  but  this  life  is  short  at  the 
best — and  at  last  you'll  come  to  Paradise,*  and  if  you  call 
there  and  see  old  Nanny  Watson,  she'll  give  you  the  best 
bit  o'  bread  and  cheese  ever  you  tasted,  Stanley.  Och, 
my  bronan,  my  chrce,  it's  poor  old  Ewen's  heart  that  will 
surely  break  this  bitter  night." 

And  so  on,  and  more  to  the  same  effect,  spoke  the  shep- 
herd, till  Stanley  clutched  his  stick  and  fled,  and  was  soon 
hidden  from  view  by  the  silver  birch-trees. 

*  Paradise,  a  beautiful  place  near  Monymusk 


2o  Stanley  Grahame. 

But  Stanley  had  made  one  very  great  mistake.  For  after 
journeying  on  all  day  till  far  into  the  afternoon  in  the  main 
road,  he  had  forsaken  it  for  what  he  felt  sure  was  a  near 
cut,  and  now  he  was  here  alone,  not  a  hut  nor  house  in 
sight,  only  heathy  moorland  with  ne'er  a  stock  nor  stone 
peeping  through  the  heather's  green,  wheresoever  he  turned 
his  gaze. 

"  I  wish,"  he  said,  half  aloud,  for  the  silence  was  irksome, 
and  broken  only  now  and  then  by  whirr  of  wild  duck's  wing, 
mournful  whistle  of  whaup  [curlew],  or  plaintive  bleating  of 
mire-snipe — "  I  wish  I  had  taken  Ewen's  advice,  and  kept  to 
the  road,  I  might  have  been  half-way  to  Paradise  by  this 
time.  But  who's  afraid  ?  I'll  stick  to  this  road  now  I  am 
on  it." 

He  gave  one  more  quick  glance  at  the  sky,  then  hurried 
on.  More  than  once  he  had  to  go  off  the  narrow  path  to 
avoid  great  snakes,  that  although  the  day  was  closing,  still 
lay  in  sleeping  coils  here  and  there.  They  were  not 
poisonous,  but  he  was  not  to  know  that. 

And  the  shadows  kept  falling.  He  pulled  out  a  book — it 
was  the  Bible  his  sister  had  put  in  his  pocket — and  found 
to  his  dismay  it  was  so  dark  already  he  could  hardly 
decipher  a  word.  He  walked  all  the  more  quickly  after 
that,  with  many  an  anxious  glance  ahead. 

Where  could  she  have  come  from  ?  She  stood  all  at 
once  right  in  his  path,  she  appeared  to  have  sprung  from 
the  very  ground  on  which  she  stood.  An  old  weazened 
hag.  Surely  a  witch  ?  What  could  she  be  but  a  witch, 
with  that  stern  set  face,  hooked  nose,  and  glaring  eyes — 
with  those  elfin  locks  escaping  from  beneath  her  flapping 
mutch,  the  long  pole  in  her  right  hand,  and  the  mantle 
down-drooping  from  her  raised  arm  ? 

Stanley  was  afraid  now ;  he  stopped  and  stared,  but  he 
could  not  speak,  and  he  could  hear  his  heart  thudding 
against  his  ribs.  But  her  first  words  reassured  him  some- 
what 


Daft  yean   Weir.  2.1 

"  How  you  scared  me  1 "  she  cried,  in  an  earnest  pathetic 
voice  ;  "  and  I  daresay  I  scared  you.  Whaur  are  ye  goin', 
poor  lost  laddie,  at  this  untimeous  hour  of  the  night  ?  I'm 
only  daft  Jean  o'  Fondlan'  Glen,  dinna  be  feared." 

"  I'm  not  afraid,"  said  Stanley,  stoutly.  "  But  tell  me, 
am  I  on  the  straight  road  to  Glenbucket  ?  " 

"  Poor  lost  laddie  ! "  said  Jean,  sadly ;  "  you're  on  the 
straight  road  to  ruin  if  daft  Jean  takes  not  care  o'  you. 
There's  no'  a  house  within  ten  miles  o'  here  but  Jean's. 
Dinna  be  feared,  this  is  not  ane  o'  my  mad  nights ;  and  if 
it  were  I  wadna  injure  you.  Dear  lost  laddie,  I  knew  your 
faither  weel,  and  you've  got  your  faither's  een  [eyes].  I'll 
take  care  o'  you.  But  if  the  smugglin'  billies  were  to  meet 
you  here  they'd 

"  What  ?  "  asked  Stanley,  his  teeth  beginning  to  chatter. 

"  Rob,  and  perhaps  slay  ye  ! "  said  daft  Jean,  "and  bury 
your  body  in  a  pool  so  deep  that  ne'er  a  bubble  would  rise 
to  tell  a  tale.  No,  Jean's  no'  mad  to-night ;  sometimes  I 
am.  Sometimes  at  the  dark  hour  o'  midnight  strange 
things  come  to  Jean's  lanely  hut,  and  they  keep  speak, 
speak,  speaking,  and  chatter,  chatter,  chattering  to  one 
another  in  a  corner ;  then  they  come  to  the  bed  and  say, 
'  Rise,  Jean  !  rise,  Jean,  rise  ! '  and  I  have  to  go  with  them, 
away  o'er  the  lonesome  moorland,  far  awa'  to  the  haunted 
quarry  o'  Pitfreem,  and  there  I  see  such  sights — such  fear- 
some, fearsome  sights  !  But  Jean  is  sane  and  wise  to- 
night," she  continued,  "  and,  if  he'll  only  let  her,  she'll 
save  Grahame's  poor  lost  laddie  from  the  smugglers  o' 
Glen  Fondlan'.  Come!" 

Stanley  glanced  at  her  face  for  one  quick  moment.  All 
the  madness  seemed  clean  gone  out  of  it,  pity  alone  was  all 
he  could  read  in  that  now  womanly  countenance.  He  still 
hesitated,  however :  but  just  then  a  horizontal  stream 
of  lightning  seemed  to  cut  the  sky  in  two,  and  blinding 
darkness  followed. 

Stanley  pressed  his  hand  to  his  eyes  ;  he  saw  only  blood- 


2  2  Stanley  Grahavie. 

led  and  blue.     "  I'll  go  with  you,"  he  said,  "  as  you  knevc 
my  fath — 

The  rest  of  the  sentence  was  lost  in  the  hurtling  roar  of 
thunder,  and  big  drops  of  hail  began  to  patter  on  the  ground 
before  them. 

"  Let  us  go  quick,  then,"  said  Jean  ;  "  it's  no'  the  storm 
I  fear,  nor  care  a  pin-head  for;  but  if  the  lads  come  up  and 
see  us  th'gither  they'd  suspect  treason,  and  mayhap  it's  in 
the  black  bottom  o'  Murdoch's  Pool  we'd  have  to  seek  our 
supper." 

Young  and  strong  though  he  was,  it  was  all  he  could  do 
to  keep  pace  with  this  strange  wild  woman.  She  forsook 
the  path  entirely  and  took  to  the  hill,  the  heather  sometimes 
up  as  high  as  their  waists.  They  soon  came  to  a  little  foot- 
path, and  this  they  followed,  and  ere  long  Stanley  found 
himself  in  what  had,  many  hundreds  of  years  ago,  been  a 
field,  for  the  fence  that  was  still  round  it  had  sunk  almost 
to  a  level  with  the  earth.  In  the  middle  of  this  enclosure 
was  a  long,  low,  flat-roofed  building,  probably  not  more 
than  eight  feet  high,  and  entirely  built  of  flat  stones,  with 
pebbles  filling  up  the  interstices,  but  neither  lime  nor  mor- 
tar had  ever  come  nigh  it. 

"This  is  daft  Jean's  dwelling"  said  his  strange  guide; 
"'twas  never  built  by  mortal  hands.  It's  dark  and  dismal 
inside,  but  Jean's  lamps  will  soon  mak'  it  as  bricht  as  day." 

The  door  or  entrance  to  this  curious  building  was  at  one 
end.  This  led  to  a  small  ante-chamber,  through  which  you 
passed  into  the  principal  room,  some  twenty  feet  long  by 
eight  wide,  and  eight  high,  stone  roof,  stone  floor,  and  bare 
stone  walls.  At  the  farther  end  of  this  an  opening,  a  few 
feet  from  the  ground,  but  not  much  bigger  than  a  small 
window,  led  to  an  inner  chamber,  not  quite  so  large  as  the 
other,  but  of  the  same  shape,  and  built  all  round  of  stone 
like  the  other. 

Stanley  had  never  seen  so  strange  a  dwelling  before,  but 
he  had  read  of  the  cirde  houses  of  the  north,  and  rightly 


Daft  Jean    Weir.  23 

judged  that  this  was  one  of  them.  Well  might  daft  Jean 
have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  this  place  was  built  by  no 
mortal  hands,  for  so  old  are  these  buildings,  that  tradition 
itself  gives  no  account  of  the  wild  beings  who  once  made 
them  their  homes. 

In  the  centre  of  the  principal  room  a  fire  of  peats 
smouldered  on  a  hearth  built  around  a  stone,  and  this  Jean 
soon  fanned  into  a  flame  with  her  mouth.  She  then  lit  oil 
lamps  that  hung  on  the  walls,  both  in  this  room  and  in  the 
ante-chamber,  and  Stanley  could  then  see  that  the  few 
articles  of  furniture,  table,  chairs,  and  a  da'is,  were  all  of 
the  rudest  description. 

"  In  there  is  your  bedroom,  poor  lost  laddie,"  said  Jean, 
pointing  to  the  inner  apartment ;  "  you'll  find  a  bed  o'  rushes, 
but  ne'er  a  light  you'll  have,  for  the  lads  will  be  here  ere 
long,  and  if  they  found  you " 

As  she  spoke  she  hoisted  a  great  pot  from  a  corner,  and 
hung  it  on  a  crook  over  the  fire. 

"Soup,  laddie,  soup,"  she  said,  "soup  o'  the  best,  soup 
o'  pairtrich,  young  grouse,  eggs,  and  hare.  You'll  have  the 
first  pannikin,  and  nice  you'll  find  it.  The  boys  '11  no  be 
here,  I  reckon,  for  an  hour  or  more  to  come.  So  mak' 
yoursel'  at  hame  in  the  meanwhile." 

Stanley  was  both  tired  and  hungry,  and  therefore  not 
averse  to  do  justice  to  the  good  fare  daft  Jean  placed  before 
him.  Rude  though  the  hut  was,  it  was  a  shelter,  and  the 
storm  that  now  raged  outside  made  the  fire  look  quite  like 
a  friend.  Many  a  strange  story  of  her  life  in  the  moorland 
did  Jean  tell  him,  and  of  the  terrible  gang  of  smugglers 
that  made  the  eirde  house  their  headquarters,  and  Jean 
herself  their  spy  on  pain  of  death. 

"  I'm  but  a  witch,  they  tell  me,"  said  the  poor  creature, 
"and  the  bottom  o'  Murdoch's  Pool  is  only  my  deserts  if  I 
dinna  do  as  I'm  told." 

"Were  you  always "  began  Stanley,  but  hesitated, 

reddening. 


24  Stanley  Grahame. 

"  Was  I  aye  daft,  aye  mad,  you  were  going  to  say,"  said 
Jean.  "  No,  laddie,  no ;  and  oh  !  if  ever  you  meet  my 
Archie,  Archie  Weir,  tell  him,  oh !  tell  him  to  come  back 
and  close  his  auld  mither's  een,  and  I'll  forgive  him  for  the 
heart  he  has  broken.  He  was  my  only  stay  and  comfort, 
but  wild  and  hasty  like  his  father  before  him ;  one  angry 
word,  and  Archie  went  away,  and  I've  never  seen  him 
more.  They  turned  me  oot  o'  house  and  holdin',  and  this 
cold  bield  is  all  I  have  to  shelter  me ;  but  if  Archie  were 
back  I'd  never  be  daft  or  wud  (mad)  again." 

"But  where  am  I  likely  to  meet  him?"  asked  Stanley, 
innocently. 

"Somewhere  in  the  wide,  wide  world,"  said  the  old  dame, 
speaking  as  if  to  herself,  and  looking  not  at  Stanley,  but 
into  the  fire ;  "  somewhere  in  the  wide,  wide  world  Stanley 
Grahame  will  meet  wi'  Archie  Weir.  His  ship  was 
wrecked  on  African  shores,  but  Archie  didna  die.  I've 
seen  his  face  in  the  fire.  I  see  him  now ;  there  are  savages 
around  him,  he  is  their  slave,  as  I  am  the  slave  o'  the 
smugglers.  He  is  trying  to  escape.  Look,  look !  They 
chase  him,  they  fell  him  to  the  earth  with  their  fearsome 
clubs;  they  raise  their  clubs  to  finish  their  work,  but  sword 
in  hand  another  rushes  in,  and  stands  triumphant  over  him. 
That  one  is  Stanley  Grahame  ! 

"Oh,  Stanley  !"  she  continued,  turning  to  the  boy,  "I've 
saved  your  life  this  blessed  night.  Promise  me,  then,  that 
if  ever  you  meet  my  boy  you'll  bring  him  back  to  his  poor 
auld  mither.  Promise." 

"  I  promise,"  said  Stanley,  hardly  knowing  what  words 
he  uttered,  for  there  was  a  wondrous  fascination  in  the 
woman's  voice  and  eyes. 

"Listen,"  she  said.  "In  this  house  there  is  gold  buried 
beneath  these  stones.  We'll  dig  it  up  when  Archie — but, 
hush,  hush  !  In  with  you  to  your  room  !  Quick,  Quick  !  the 
smugglers  are  coming." 

In  a  moment  Stanley  had  disappeared — had  leapt  through 


The  Smugglers.  25 

the  opening  into  the  inner  apartment  with  all  the  agility  of 
a  cat. 

None  too  soon.  Dripping  wet,  but  singing  snatches  of 
old  bacchanalian  songs,  and  evidently  cheerful  withal,  five 
men  in  all  filed  into  the  apartment. 

"  Ha !  Jean,  old  girl,"  cried  one,  laying  his  hand  not 
unkindly  on  the  old  woman's  shoulder.  "Here  is  a  night." 

"Just  such  a  night  as  we  like,"  said  another. 

"Yes,  lass,"  said  the  former,  who  seemed  to  be  leadei, 
"and  a  rare  piece  of  luck  we've  had.  But  bustle  about, 
old  girl,  and  get  us  supper.  Duncan,  give  us  a  dram. 
Out  wi'  the  bottle,  man." 

"  I'll  have  the  bottle,"  cried  Jean,  suddenly  springing 
forward  and  catching  it.  "  No'  a  drop  do  one  o'  ye  taste 
until  you've  had  your  meal.  Jean  Weir  has  spoken;  thwart 
her  if  ye  can  or  dare." 

"  Weel,  weel,  Jean,  so  be  it,"  said  the  leader ;  "  but 
you're  in  a  queer  temper  to-night.  Are  you  goin'  mad  on 
our  hands  again?" 

"  Never  a  mad,"  replied  daft  Jean.  "  I've  been  thinkin', 
that's  all.  But  sit  down,  laddies.  You'll  never  have  to  say 
that  Jean  starved  you."  . 

The  smugglers  ate  like  men  who  had  not  seen  meat  since 
morning,  and  the  conversation  was  limited  indeed  until  the 
banquet  was  cleared  away.  Then — 

"  Now,  Jean,  the  whiskey." 

It  is  not  my  intention  to  relate  all  that  passed  or  was 
said  in  the  eirde  house  that  night.  Suffice  it  to  say  that 
these  men  began  by  relating  their  exploits,  and  some 
of  these  relations  made  the  blood  of  our  hero  run  cold. 
Then  songs  were  sung,  and  ranting  choruses.  Then 
they  must  dance,  and  old  Jean;  with  quavering  voice, 
must  lilt  to  them  while  they  capered  and  reeled.  Towards 
morning  they  quarrelled,  and  fierce  blows  were  given  and 
returned. 

"Where  are  you   going?"  cried   Jean,  suddenly,  when 


26  Stanley  Grahame. 

peace  was  restored,  seeing  the  leader  of  the  party  staggering 
towards  the  room  where  Stanley  lay  concealed. 

"  In  there,"  roared  the  man,  "there  is  a  spy  in  the  house. 
I  know  it,  men,  I  know." 

"A  spy!"  was  the  excited  chorous.  "Out  with  him. 
Off  with  him  to  the  deepest  spot  in  Murdoch's  Pool. 

"  Out  with  the  spy  !     Quick,  men,  quick  !" 

For  a  moment,  though  but  a  moment,  it  seemed  that 
young  Stanley  was  doomed.  But  Jean  was  equal  to  the 
occasion.  She  made  no  attempt  to  prevent  the  smugglers 
from  rushing  to  the  inner  apartment,  but  she  blew  out  the 
lights.  Stanley  took  the  hint.  He  dropped  down  among 
his  would-be  captors,  and  slipping  along  the  wall,  was  out 
and  away  from  the  house  ere  it  was  possible  for  the  rioters 
to  strike  a  match. 

Out  and  away  from  the  terrible  eirde  house  ran  our  boy, 
and  never  stopped  to  breathe  until  he  had  placed  a  good 
mile  between  himself  and  his  would-be  murderers. 

He  knew  not,  nor  cared,  in  which  direction  he  was 
running.  All  he  cared  for  was  to  get  away;  and,  oh  that 
he  could  find  some  means  of  helping  poor  Jean  !  Morning 
was  breaking,  though — that  was  some  comfort  to  him. 

In  the  west  the  bright  stars  were  still  aglow,  but  away  in 
the  east  an  ever-broadening  belt  of  light  appeared  and 
paled  the  planets  in  its  upward  course.  He  turned  his  face 
towards  it  and  hurried  on. 

Morning  broke  raw  and  somewhat  cheerless,  but  with 
every  appearance  of  a  glorious  summer's  day.  Linnets 
came  out  of  the  heathery  banks,  shook  the  dew  from  their 
wings,  and  after  giving  vent  to  a  peevish  chirp  or  two, 
broke  fully  into  song. 

On  and  on  for  miles,  then  he  found  himself  at  the  end  of 
the  wide  moorland,  and  on  the  edge  of  a  hill,  with  far 
beneath  him  a  beautiful  and  fertile  glen,  and  the  glorious 
Don — it  could  be  no  other  river — meandering  through  its 
midst. 


Murdoch's  Pool.  27 

Stanley  was  glad  to  remember  he  had  food  in  his  wallet. 
He  made  a  hearty  breakfast.  Then  he  crept  in  under  a 
bush,  where,  though  sheltered  from  the  sun's  rays,  he  had 
a  view  of  all  the  bonnie  glen.  He  did  not  see  it  long, 
however.  There  was  the  odour  of  the  golden  gorse  all 
around  him,  the  song  of  the  linnet  on  the  thorn,  and  the 
drowsy  hum  of  summer  insects.  His  eyes  twinkled.  He 
tried  hard  to  keep  them  open,  but  the  lids  were  heavy- 
heavy — heav .  Why,  I  do  declare  our  hero  has  gone 

to  sleep. 


III. 

STANLEY  CONTINUES  HIS  JOURNEY— AND  FINDS 
A  FRIEND— THE  GOOD  SHIP  "  TANTALLAN 
CASTLE." 


CHAPTER  III. 

STANLEY    CONTINUES     HIS    JOURNEY AND     FINDS    A    FRIEND — 

THE    GOOD    SHIP    "TANTALLAN    CASTLE." 

WHEN  Stanley  Grahame  awoke  at  last  from  his 
slumbers  under  the  thorn-tree  the  sun  was  a 
goodly  way  up  in  the  sky.  Smoke  was  ascending  from 
every  cottage  and  house  in  the  glen  below,  going  straight 
up  into  the  air,  spreading  out,  and  dissolving  into  ether,  for 
there  was  not  a  breath  of  wind,  nor  was  there  a  cloud  in 
all  the  blue  firmament.  He  sat  up  and  rubbed  his  eyes, 
closed  them  and  rubbed  them,  and  then  looked  again.  Then 
he  sat  for  a  time  with  a  sort  of  a  puzzled  expression  on  his 
handsome  young  face  that  was  quite  comical  to  behold.  He 
could  not  remember  where  he  was,  or  why  and  wherefore 
he  came  to  be  sitting  there.  He  called  to  mind  the  events 
of  the  previous  night,  but  thought  they  must  be  only  part 
and  parcel  of  a  frightful  dream. 

Then  he  happened  to  put  his  hand  to  his  breast  pocket^ 
and  there  he  found  THE  BOOK.  Ah  !  that  recalled  him  to 
his  senses.  He  remembered  everything  now — where  he 
was,  and  whither  he  was  going.  His  thoughts  were 
thoughts  of  thankfulness,  and  although  there  was  a  weight 
as  of  lead  at  his  heart  when  his  mind  reverted  to  his  cottage 
home  and  the  dear  ones  he  left  behind  him,  as  well  as  to 
poor  wild  Jean,  he  did  not  forget  to  pray. 

Just  one  word  about  the  Bible  that  Ailie  had  given  to  her 
brother  before  he  started  from  home.  It  was  a  small 
pocket  edition,  and,  though  clear  in  type,  was  very  old.  It 


32  Stanley  Grahame. 

had  belonged  to  Stanley's  father.  There  were  leaves  turned 
down  here  and  there,  evidently  marking  passages  from  which 
a  former  reader  had  obtained  comfort — perhaps  in  sorrow. 
One  of  these  marked  the  gist  Psalm.  Stanley  read  it  all 
through,  and  thought  it  very,  very  beautiful,  as  indeed  it  is. 

"  Heigho  !  "  sighed  the  boy.  "  I  do  wish,  though,  I  had 
not  to  leave  home  and  go  wandering  away  over  this  world. 
What  do  I  want  of  riches  ?  Couldn't  I  stay  at  home  and 
be  a  farmer  ?  But  no  ;  I  couldn't  be  a  farmer." 

He  had  placed  the  Bible  beside  him  on  the  grass,  and  it 
had  opened  by  chance,  as  it  were — if,  indeed,  anything  can 
happen  by  chance  in  a  world  over  which  God  rules;  but 
when  next  he  glanced  down  his  eye  fell  upon  the  nineteenth 
verse  of  the  77th  Psalm,  and  these  words:  "Thy  way  is 
in  the  sea,  and  thy  path  in  the  great  waters." 

Young  Stanley  got  up,  very  quietly  but  determinedly,  as 
if  full  of  a  great  purpose.  He  restored  the  Bible  to  his 
breast-pocket,  then  he  turned  his  face  in  the  direction  of  his 
home.  He  spoke,  half-unconsciously,  aloud,  and  the  words 
he  said  were  brave  words,  but  there  was  not  one  single 
atom  of  excitability  or  theatrical  display  about  the  boy  as 
he  uttered  them. 

"Good-bye,  mother  dear;  good-bye,  Ailie.  I  did  not 
feel  until  this  very  moment  that  we  had  parted.  I'm  not 
sure  I  had  not  meant  to  have  come  back  again  within  a  week. 
But  now  farewell.  The  boy  you  love  will  not  return  until 
he  can  do  so  with  houour,  if  not  with  riches.  Good-bye." 

Then  Stanley  started  down  the  glen.  There  was  a  lark 
high  up  in  air,  fanning  the  clouds  with  its  wings  as  it  trilled 
its  song.  Oh,  how  blithely  the  birdie  sang  !  It  was  so  filled 
with  joy  and  hope  that  I  verily  believe  its  little  heart  would 
have  burst,  had  it  not  been  able  to  find  vent  for  its  feelings 
in  music.  But  I  doubt  if  that  lark's  song  was  a  bit  more 
gleesome  than  that  of  our  hero's  as  he  marched  along  the 
road  on  that  lovely  summer's  morning  all  by  himself.  His 
thoughts  were  not  with  the  present,  but  away  somewhere 


On  His  Journey.  33 

in  the  golden  future,  and  I  am  not  at  all  certain  that  he  was 
conscious  that  he  was  singing.  Nevertheless,  many  a 
passer-by  turned  round  to  look  after  him,  and  many  a 
country  "  goodwife "  looked  out  at  her  cottage  door  and 
muttered,  with  a  smile,  "  God  bless  the  dear  laddie  !  Isn't 
it  light-hearted  and  merry  he  is  ?  " 

Five  miles  an  hour,  if  an  inch,  walked  Stanley,  twirling 
his  stick  in  the  air  as  he  went,  and  now  and  then  playing 
terrible  havoc  among  the  nettles  and  docks  by  the  roadside, 
but  never  touching  a  thistle. 

"  Will  you  have  a  ride,  my  boy  ?  "  said  a  kind  and  cheer- 
ful voice. 

He  looked  up  and  found  there  was  a  dogcart  close  along- 
side him,  with  a  spirited  horse  and  a  spirited-looking  though 
elderly  gentleman  fingering  the  ribbons. 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Stanley,  and  next  moment  he 
was  seated  beside  his  new  friend. 

"  You  seem  light-hearted,  lad,"  said  the  gentleman  ;  "  you 
were  singing." 

"  Was  1  ?  "  replied  Stanley. 

"  Well,  yes ;  I  should  think  you  knew,  and  a  beautiful 
voice  you'll  have — when  it  is  broken." 

"  Oh,  dear  !  "  said  Stanley,  "  isn't  it  broken  yet  ?  Indeed, 
I  forgot  for  the  moment  it  wasn't.  But  I  feel  quite  old." 

The  gentleman  laughed,  and  even  the  horse  shook  his 
head  till  his  gilt  bradoons  glittered  and  rattled,  as  if 
even  he  appreciated  so  good  a  joke.  "  Old  ?  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  ! 
What  makes  you  feel  old,  boy,  eh  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  sir,"  said  Stanley  Grahame,  "  but  I  seem 
to  have  grown  a  man  since  yesterday." 

"Dear  me!"  said  the  gentleman,  gazing  at  him  with 
smiles  chasing  each  other  all  round  his  lips  and  eyes. 
"Why,  where  did  you  sleep  last  night  ?  I  heard  of  a  boy 
once  who  went  to  bed  on  top  of  a  b  g  of  guano,  and  when 
he  awoke  in  the  morning  his  own  mother  didn't  know  him, 
he  had  grown  so  tall  during  the  night." 

3 


34  Stanley  GraJiaine. 

"  But,"  replied  Stanley,  laughing,  "  I  didn't  sleep  on  top 
of  a  guano-bag." 

Then  he  told  him  his  adventures  since  he  left  home, 
pleading  on  poor  Jean's  behalf,  and  finishing  up  with  these 
words:  "And  indeed,  sir,  it  seems  quite  ten  years  since  I 
bade  old  Ewen  good-bye  on  the  brae-head,  and  if  I  go  on 
like  this,  you  know,  I  shall  be  seventy  before  Saturday." 

The  gentleman  laughed  again,  then, 

''  Sing  me  a  song,"  he  said. 

This  was  very  abrupt,  but  Stanley  was  not  taken  aback 
in  the  slightest.  He  was  one  of  those  boys  who  always 
seem  prepared  for  a  shift  of  wind,  so  oft"  he  went  into  the 
gold-diggers'  chorus,  quite  as  naturally  as  though  he  had 
had  twenty-four  hours,  twenty  minutes,  and  nineteen 
seconds'  notice  that  a  song  was  to  be  required  of  him. 

';  Pull  away  cheerily, 

Not  slow  and  wearily, 
Rocking  the  cradle,  boys,  swift  to  and  fro ; 

Working  the  hand  about, 

Sifting  the  sand  about, 
Looking  for  treasures  that  lie  in  below." 

A  rattling  song  to  a  rattling  tune,  and  the  rattle  of  wheels 
made  splendid  accompaniment. 

"  Bravo!"  cried  the  gentleman,  clapping  his  gloved  hands. 
"  Well  done !  I  never  saw  my  old  mare  go  like  that  before. 
Why,  boy,  you're  a  trump." 

"I  don't  know  what  a  'trump'  is,  though,"  replied 
Stanley.  "  I  was  a  tramp  before  you  kindly  picked  me  up, 
and  I  am  twelve  years  of  age." 

"  Twelve  ?  only  twelve  ?  "  was  the  remark. 
Twelve  last  birthday,"  added  Stanley. 

"Well,  well,  well,  I  never,"  said  the  gentleman;  "but, 
don't  you  tell  me,  you  have  been  sleeping  on  a  guano-bag." 

Stanley  laughed,  and  so  did  the  gentleman,  and  the  mare 
whisked  at  imaginary  flies  with  her  tail,  and  sped  swiftly 
along  the  road,  keeping  her  ears  back,  not  in  anger,  but 


Finds  a  Friend.  35 

apparently  to  find  out  if  Stanley  were  going  to  sing  again. 
And  much  more  pleasant  conversation  followed.  The 
gentleman  was  full  of  fun,  and  seemed  to  take  a  delight  in 
drawing  Stanley  out,  while  he,  on  his  part,  was  as  merry 
as  May  morning  when  it  doesn't  rain,  and  made  such 
curious  remarks  and  quaint  retorts  that  his  companion  was 
fain  at  last  to  dub  him  "  quite  an  original." 

You  see  it  was  hope  that  was  making  Stanley  feel  so 
bright  and  gay  and  happy.  All  the  world  was  before  him. 
He  felt  not  only  that  there  were  hopes  of  a  future  for  him, 
but  he  even  enjoyed  it  in  anticipation. 

"  What  a  beautiful  horse  you  have,  sir  !  "  said  Stanley. 
"  Come  now,  youngster,"  replied  the  gentleman  ;  "  all 
my  cattle  do  twelve  miles  an  hour,  and  this  old  mare  says 
she  can  do  fifteen  if  you  sing  again.  I'll  give  you  a  bass, 
and  let  us  have  something  that  will  quiet  us  both  down  a 
bit,  for  what  with  the  beauty  of  the  scenery  and  the  bright 
sunshine,  and  what  with  talking  and  laughing,  I  feel  quite 
elevated." 

"  '  Ye  banks  and  braes  '  ?  "  suggested  Stanley. 
"  'Ye  banks  and  braes  o'  bonnie  Boon,'  be  it  then." 
"  By  the  way,"  said   the  gentleman,   when  Stanley   had 
finished,  "who  is  going  to  meet  you  at  New  York  ?  " 

"  My  uncle,  Captain  Mackinlay,  is  going  to  send  a  man 
all  the  way  from  Virginia  to  meet  me." 

"  Your  uncle,  Captain  Mackinlay  ?"  repeated  the  gentle- 
man.    "  Why,  surely  that  cannot  be  the  same  who  owned 
the  estate  of  The  Faulds  in  Glenkindy  ?  " 
"  The  same,  sir,"  said  Stanley. 

"Whew!"  the  gentleman  whistled  in  astonishment. 
"  Let  me  shake  hands,  my  dear  boy  ;  your  uncle  and  I  are 
the  oldest  of  friends.  We  were  schoolmates,  and  for  the 
first  year  of  our  school  life  we  fought  every  night  of  our 
lives,  and  twice  on  Saturday  because  it  was  a  half-holiday. 
Captain  Mackinlay — Sandie  McKcil,  as  we  used  to  call  him. 
Don't  I  remember  that  day  I  had  him  down  under,  and  he 


36  Stanley  Gralianie. 

drew  the  big  pin  out  of  his  kitt  and  stuck  it  into  me  right 
up  to  the  head — four  inches  of  it,  my  boy — and  I  lay  a-bed 
for  a  month  !  Now,  I  hadn't  meant  going  farther  than 
Kintore,  but  circumstances  alter  cases ;  I'll  tool  you  right 
in  to  the  granite  city  after  we  dine.  Well,  well ;  wonders 
never  cease." 

"  To  whom  have  I  the  pleasure  of  talking  ? "  asked 
Stanley. 

"Major  Kinnaird,"  was  the  reply:  "but  just  you  ask 
your  uncle  if  he  remembers  his  old  schoolfellow  '  Carrots  ' 
whom  he  used  the  pin  to.  My  hair  was  red  then,  so  they 
called  me  'Carrots.'" 

What  a  pleasant,  happy  evening  Stanley  spent  with  the 
major !  They  did  not  go  on  to  town  until  next  day,  just  in 
time  for  Stanley  to  join  the  steamer  for  Edinburgh. 

The  major  saw  his  box  on  board,  and  walked  on  foot  to 
the  end  of  the  pier,  and  waved  his  hand  in  farewell  as  the 
great  ship  went  over  the  bar. 

Now,  dear  reader,  the  heroes  of  most  tales  hardly  ever 
cat  or  drink,  and  as  for  getting  sea-sick,  why  such  a  thing 
would  be  out  of  the  question  ;  but  truth  constrains  me  to 
inform  you  that  the  good  ship  Tantallan  Castle  was  no 
sooner  well  at  sea,  and  beginning  to  beck  and  bow  to  the 
advancing  waves,  than  Stanley  Grahame  felt  queerer  than 
ever  he  had  felt  before  in  his  life.  Not  that  he  was  noisily 
sick,  though — no,  it  was  worse  than  that;  the  perspiration 
poured  off  him,  all  the  blood  forsook  his  face,  his  stomach 
seemed  to  be  away  up  among  the  clouds  somewhere,  and 
his  heart  in  the  heels  of  his  boots.  Poor  fellow  !  he  was 
ill,  though  there  wasn't  a  capful  of  wind  blowing.  But  the 
wind  was  dead  in  her  eye,  and  she  pitched  a  bit  and  took  a 
bucket  or  two  of  green  water  on  board,  to  say  nothing  of 
any  amount  of  spray. 

"  Go  below,  my  lad,"  said  the  steward,  kindly. 

Stanley  tried,  and  well-nigh  fainted.  He  was  only  a 
steerage  passenger,  and  the  warm  sickly  air  of  the  fore 


Tke  Good  Ship  "  Tantallan   Castle"       37 

saloon,  as  it  was  grandly  called,  would  almost  have  killed  a 
cobra.  Stanley  lay  down  on  top  of  the  grating  of  one  of 
the  hatchways,  with  a  coil  of  rope  for  a  pillow,  anu  there 
slumber  found  him,  and  relieved  him  for  a  time  of  his 
wretchedness. 

It  came  on  to  blow  a  bit  during  the  night,  and  the 
Tantallan  being  only  a  "  dug,"  big  as  she  was,  could  not 
make  headway,  so  that  when  Stanley  awoke  in  the  morning 
they  were  still  at  sea,  but  the  Bass  Rock  was  in  sight ;  she 
had  shifted  her  course,  and  was  standing  in  towards  the 
Frith,  rolling  now  instead  of  pitching,  by  way  of  a  change. 

How  very  sore  Stanley  did  feel,  to  be  sure !  A  grating 
is  a  hard  bed  at  the  best,  and  the  pattern  of  the  one  on 
which  the  boy  had  slept  seemed  to  be  printed  all  over  his 
body.  There  was  the  mark  of  the  rope  on  his  cheek  and 
brow  too,  and  to  add  to  this  he  was  drenched  to  the  skin, 
and  so  cold.  He  crawled  up  on  to  the  bridge  and  stood  by 
the  flaming  funnel,  and  when  one  side  of  his  clothes  was 
dry,  he  turned  the  other  till  that  was  dry  likewise.  Very 
imprudent  conduct,  I  grant  you,  but  then  Stanley  had  been 
reared  among  the  Highland  heather.  No  hothouse  plant 
was  he,  so  he  did  not  very  readily  succumb  to  cold. 

And  the  Tantallan  Castle  bore  steadily  in  towards  the 
land,  but  a  deal  of  fuss  she  made  about  it.  She  fretted  and 
fumed,  and  pitched  and  rolled,  and  thrashed  the  advancing 
waves  with  her  bows,  as  a  whale  does  with  its  great  tail. 
She  seemed  trying  to  make  believe  she  was  the  Great 
Eastern  buffeted  by  an  Atlantic  gale,  or  some  mighty  man- 
o'-war  in  the  chops  of  the  Channel.  She  seemed  bent  on 
making  every  one  on  board  as  uncomfortable  as  possible,  so 
that  even  ancient  mariners  longed  for  the  land,  and  talked 
despairingly  about  the  vessel. 

Whenever  a  bit  of  a  sea  struck  her  she  kicked  like  a 
converted  Enfield,  and  felt  as  sulky  all  over  as  a  jibbing  horse. 

But  no  wonder,  for  nobody  on  board  had  a  good  word  to 
say  about  her. 


38  Stanley   Grahame. 

The  passengers  who  had  taken  return  tickets  openly 
averred  that  rather  than  go  back  in  her  they  would  pay  the 
extra  fare  and  go  by  train.  And  you  could  have  heard 
such  remarks  among  the  seamen  as  "Wretched  old  tub!  " 
"Shakes and  quivers  like  a  superannuated  clothes-basket!" 
"  Time  she  was  broken  up,  Bill !  " 

"  That  it  be,  Jack ;  and  I  wouldn't  mind  if  she  were  in 
Davy  Jones,  so  be  that  I  got  safely  out  of  her." 

This  certainly  was  not  giving  the  poor  old  TantaUan 
Castle  much  encouragement  to  do  the  right  thing,  even  if 
she  had  wished  to.  But  at  long  last  Edinburgh,  "  our  own 
romantic  town,"  was  not  far  distant,  the  city  of  monuments 
and  mountains,  and  frowning  through  the  morning  haze 
was  the  ancient  castle, 

"  Whose  pond'rous  wall  and  massy  bar, 

Grim  rising  o'er  the  rugged  rock, 
Have  oft  withstood  the  force  of  war, 
And  oft  repelled  the  invader's  shock." 

Even  when  the  vessel  got  abreast  of  the  pier  she  would 
not  behave  prettily,  but  needed  all  sorts  of  encouragement 
and  coaxing,  and  backing  astern,  and  going  ahead  a  little; 
and  when  the  hawser  was  thrown  on  shore  and  belayed 
she  attempted  suicide  in  the  most  determined  manner  by 
trying  to  break  her  ribs  against  the  granite. 

Verily,  I  feel  half  ashamed  that  my  hero  should  have 
made  his  debut  as  a  mariner  in  so  ancient  and  unseaworthy 
a  dug  as  the  Tantallan  Castle. 


IV. 

STANLEY'S  GLASGOW  COUSIN— "  CHILDREN,  LOVE 
ONE  ANOTHER"— ON  THE  WIDE  ATLANTIC— AN 
IDYLLIC  LIFE  AT  SEA, 


CHAPTER  IV. 

STANLEY'S  GLASGOW  COUSIN — "  CHILDREN,  LOVE  ONE  ANOTHER  " 
ON  THE  WIDE  ATLANTIC — AN  IDYLLIC  LIFE  AT  SEA. 

TOM  REYNOLDS  was  a  good  specimen  of  a  class  of 
young  men  that,  so  far  as  my  experience  goes,  you 
meet  with  in  no  city  of  the  British  Empire  save  Glasgow. 
If  you  cross  the  broad  Atlantic,  as  Stanley  will  soon  do,  you 
fail  to  find  such  men  in  New  York;  but  if  you  take  the  cars 
and  rattle  away  southwards  to  Philadelphia — city  of  tree- 
shaded  streets  and  spacious  squares — you  may  find  them 
there ;  and  again  in  many  of  the  towns,  and  even  villages, 
in  Germany,  but  hardly,  I  think,  in  volatile  France. 

Tom  Reynolds  was  a  young  tradesman ;  his  craft  was 
that  of  a  printer.  He  was  only  a  journeyman,  being  barely 
twenty-one.  His  dress  was  plain  and  respectable  on  a 
Sunday,  but  without  affectation,  and  if  he  did  wear  a 
bouquet  in  his  button-hole  it  was  because  he  dearly  loved 
God's  flowers.  On  week-days  he  dressed  like  his  work, 
as  the  saying  is,  and  had  you  met  him  hurrying  home  of 
an  evening,  you  might  have  noticed  that  his  hands  were 
considerably  blacker  than  yours,  and  that  there  was  even  a 
dark  smudge  or  two  on  his  brow — evidence  that  he  had 
wiped  the  sweat  drops  away  more  than  once  during  his 
hours  of  toil. 

A  dark,  thoughtful,  calm  eye  had  Tom  Reynolds,  and  a 
manly,  well-chiselled  face  withal.  Had  he  been  dressed  in 
rags,  and  you  yourself  ''  rigged  out "  by  Poole,  you  could 
not  have  called  the  man  a  cad.  Had  you  been  lounging  in 


42  Stanley  Graham*. 

a  cafe  doorway,  and  Tom  Reynolds,  in  his  work-a-day 
clothes,  wished  to  pass  in,  you  would  have  stepped  aside 
urbanely  and  permitted  him  to  do  so. 

For  men  like  Tom  Reynolds  the  richest  in  the  land 
cannot  afford  to  despise,  while  the  wise  do  them  homage. 

Tom,  when  quite  a  boy,  had  come  from  the  country, 
where  he  had  herded  his  father's  sheep  on  the  quiet  hill- 
side, with  no  other  companion  than  a  well-thumbed  copy  of 
Burns's  poems. 

Apprenticed  to  a  firm  in  Glasgow,  he  was  delighted  to 
find  that  in  the  city  there  were  not  only  mechanics'  insti- 
tutes, where  he  could  listen  to  lectures  on  scientific  subjects, 
but  free  libraries ! 

So  Tom  worked  all  day,  and  read  in  the  evening.  Not 
that  he  was  a  bookworm  by  any  means ;  bookworms  are, 
in  my  opinion,  a  nuisance  to  themselves  and  everybody 
around  them.  For  the  most  part  they  are  mere  dreamers, 
puny  in  body,  flabby  in  biceps,  and  feeble  in  digestion. 
They  may  lie  in  the  sunshine  and  think,  it  is  true,  but  they 
seldom  act.  There  is  as  much  difference  between  a  book- 
worm of  this  kind  and  a  reading,  cogitating,  acting  man  like 
Tom  Reynolds,  as  there  is  between  a  lizard  and  a  beaver. 
But  Tom  could  take  his  turn  in  the  cricket-field  as  well  as 
any  one,  and  he  was  a  member  of  that  splendid  body  of 
men  yclept  the  Lanarkshire  Volunteers.  Nor  was  he 
averse  to  healthy  pleasure.  You  might  have  met  him  on 
the  ice  in  winter,  or  on  board  the  bustling  lona  far  down 
the  wide,  romantic  Clyde — 

"When  summer  days  were  fine." 

Tom  was  content  with  his  lot,  and  he  worked  to  the  very 
best  of  his  ability  in  the  station  of  life  to  which  it  had 
pleased  Providence  to  appoint  him. 

He  was  a  revolutionist,  however.  Now,  reader,  pray  do 
not  start,  but  listen.  Tom  was  a  revolutionist,  but  no 
revolutionary  fidget.  lie  had  no  French  feelings  in  his 


Tom  Reynolds*  43 

nature — feelings  that,  begotten  of  ire,  can  only  be  quenched 
in  blood.  Tom  was  a  law-loving  and  law-abiding  young 
man.  But,  nevertheless,  he  believed  in  a  happy  time  to 
come — 

"  When  man  to  man,  the  world  o'er, 
Shall  brothers  be,  and  a'  that." 

He  was  content  to  wait  and  work  for  this  good  time  coming 
— work  as  the  earthworms  work,  that,  seldom  seen  but 
ever  quietly  busy,  revolutionise  the  very  earth  on  which 
we  tread. 

"God  forbid,  gentlemen,"  Tom  had  once  said  at  a  debating 
meeting,  "  that  any  of  us  should  attempt  to  level  society  by 
pulling  down  ;  let  us  rather  build  up.  Away  with  envy 
and  malice,  away  with  dirk  and  pistol  for  ever  and  ever, 
unless  for  use  against  a  foreign  invader.  Let  us  try  to 
elevate  ourselves  to  the  rank  of  all  that  is  great  and  good 
by  education — by  reading  and  strict  adherence  to  duty. 
There  is  tyranny  in  the  land,  you  say — there  is  oppression. 
We  have  three  glorious  weapons  of  lawful  warfare  where- 
with to  fight  them — parliament,  the  pulpit,  and  the  pen. 
Believe  me  this  :  the  good  that  dwells  in  high  places  is 
founded  on  a  rock ;  the  evil  is  as  unsubstantial  as  the 
baseless  fabric  of  a  dream,  and  possesses  no  surer  lease 
of  existence  than  a  towering  iceberg  floating  southwards  to 
a  summer  sea. 

Tom  Reynolds  came  to  meet  Stanley  and  take  him  in 
charge  at  Edinburgh,  for  Tom  was  Stanley's  cousin,  though 
they  had  never  seen  each  other  before.  I  do  not  know  how 
it  was,  but  our  hero  knew  his  cousin  before  he  landed. 
Something  seemed  to  tell  him  that  that  tall,  handsome 
young  man  in  Sunday  clothes,  and  with  a  tall  hat — well, 
just  a  trifle  too  large  foi  him — was  nobody  else  but  Tom 
Reynolds ;  so  from  his  station  beside  the  funnel,  where  he 
was  drying  off  and  about  half-baked,  he  waved  his  pocket- 
handkerchief,  and  Tom  returned  the  salute  by  waving  his 
hand,  and  showing  a  set  of  alabaster  teeth  which,  combined 


44  Stanley  Grahame. 

with  the  smiles  that  went  rippling  away  all  over  his  face, 
made  him  look  very  pleasant  indeed. 

Stanley  took  to  him  at  once. 

They  were  soon  as  good  friends,  and  as  frank  and  free 
with  each  other,  as  if  they  had  been  acquainted  for  years. 

"And  I  am  so  hungry,"  said  Stanley,  with  decided 
emphasis  on  the  "  am." 

"  Ye  dinna  look  very  hungry,"  replied  Tom,  laughing  at 
his  cousin's  energy,  "  but  it's  the  sea-sickness  that  has  done 
it.  Ho  !  ho !  here  is  a  dining-saloon.  We'll  soon  cure 
your  complaint." 

"  My  mother  told  me,"  said  Stanley,  laying  a  friendly 
hand  on  Tom's  arm  as  he  pulled  out  his  purse,  "  that  I 
wasn't  to  allow  you  to  pay  for  anything." 

The  thinking  Scot  showed  well  out  in  Tom's  quaint 
reply. 

"  Man  !  Stanley,"  he  said,  "  I  canna  conceive  in  what 
way  your  mother — my  auntie — can  prevent  it,  nor  a'  the 
mothers  and  aunties  in  creation.  But  keep  your  mind  easy, 
cousin.  I'm  goin'  to  run  through  and  see  your  mother  in 
autumn,  and  if  she  insists  on  refunding  me,  then  I'll  insist 
on  paying  for  every  bite  and  sup  I  have  in  your  glen." 

On  their  way  to  the  station  they  came  upon  two  boys 
fighting,  and  hitting  viciously  hard  blows.  Tom  stopped, 
and  using  his  right  hand  and  left,  seized  them  both,  and 
laughingly  pulled  them  asunder.  Still  holding  them,  he 
held  a  court  of  inquiry  on  the  spot,  scolded  one  a  little,  and 
reasoned  with  the  other,  next  preached  them  both  a  little 
tiny  sermon,  then  said  something  that  made  them  both 
laugh  and  shake  hands,  and  finally  gave  them  a  "  bawbee  " 
apiece,  and  away  went  the  urchins  arm-in-arm  to  buy  black-. 
Jack. 

"  Peace  restored,"  said  Tom  ;  "  peace  restored,  Stanley 
price  one  penny." 

As  Stanley  looked  up  into  his  cousin's  laughing  face,  he 
could  not  help  thinking  how  good  a  heart  he  must  have, 


The  Good  Book.  45 

and  that  Tom  might,  at  some  future  day,  get  more  than  the 
worth  of  that  penny. 

Stanley  stayed  a  whole  week  with  his  cousin  in  Glasgow, 
and  never  a  nignt  passed  that  he  did  not  write  home. 
Stanley  had  his  outfit  to  get,  and  gladly  availed  himself  of 
Tom's  assistance  in  procuring  it,  for  Tom  knew  all  the  best 
shops,  and  knew  as  well  as  anyone  how  to  spend  a  pound 
to  the  best  advantage. 

Tom's  house  was  a  very  humble  one.  There  was  not  a 
carpet  in  it,  only  bare,  clean  boards,  but  there  was  a  well- 
swept  hearth,  a  bright  fireside,  and  quite  a  flower-garden 
on  the  window-sill.  His  mother  was  the  presiding  genius. 
With  the  exception  of  his  own  parent  Stanley  had  never 
met  so  happy  and  cheerful  a  little  body.  And  how  proud 
of  Tom  she  was,  too  !  as  well  she  might  be. 

Tom,  by  the  way,  gave  his  cousin  much  good  advice. 
He  had,  moreover,  a  way  with  him  of  preaching  little  bits 
of  sermons,  that  lost  nothing  in  effect  from  being  couched 
in  homely,  everyday  language.  Only  one  example. 

To  wit :  he  found  the  old  Bible  in  Stanley's  pocket. 

"You'll  do  well,"  he  said,  "to  stick  to  that  and  its 
teaching." 

Then,  after  a  pause, 

"  You're  too  j^oung  yet  to  do  aught  else  but  believe,  but 
I've  had  to  grope  my  way  through  doubting  darkness. 
What  do  you  think  I've  done  ?  Why,  man,  I've  read  all 
the  French  books — and  shallow  enough  they  are — and 
many  of  the  deep-thinking  German  works ;  I've  listened 
patiently  to  all  sceptics  have  to  say,  and  my  mother  avers 
I  can  see  as  far  through  a  stone  as  a  miller;  and  I've  come 
to  the  happy  conclusion  that  there  is  no  book  like  The 
Book,  Stanley;  no  guide  through  life  like  that,  no  comfort 
in  death  but  that ;  and  oh  !  cousin,  I'm  so  happy  you've 
started  right  away  on  the  right  road.  Shake  hands, 
Stanley." 

'Do  you  know  what  I  think  of  you  ?"  said  Stanley,  with 


46  Stanley  GraJiame. 

all  the  innocent  frankness  of  a  young  boy's  nature ;  "  I 
think  you  are  a  very  good  man,  and  I'm  sure  I  love  you, 
and  I'll  never  forget  you  nor  all  the  things  you've  tried  to 
teach  me." 

"If  you  measure  the  amount  of  your  love,"  replied  Tom, 
"  by  the  standard  of  my  goodness,  it  is  precious  little  I'll 
deserve  from  you.  But  I'm  willing  to  accept  your  professed 
love  and  friendship,  only  don't  let  your  love  stop  there. 
Here.  Stanley,  is  a  book-marker  for  you ;  I  suggested  the 
words,  and  my  mother  sewed  them.  Obedience  to  the 
commandment  thereon  contained  will  one  day  revolutionise 
the  peoples  of  the  world,  and  make  this  earth  a  smiling 
paradise." 

Stanley,  thanking  him,  took  the  little  gift,  and  read 
thereon  the  words  : 

"  CHILDREN,  LOVE  ONE  ANOTHER." 

*  *  *  *  * 

To  say  that  Stanley  Grahame  was  not  sorry  to  leave  his 
native  land  would  be  incorrect.  He  did  not  like  to  appear 
quite  a  child  before  his  aunt  and  honest  Tom  Reynolds ; 
but  as  he  bade  them  adieu  he  dared  hardly  trust  himself  to 
speak,  and  he  had  to  bite  his  lips  till  they  bled,  in  order  to 
suppress  the  rising  tears.  And  when  the  vessel  had  fairly 
cast  off,  amid  much  noise  and  shouting,  and  was  being 
tugged  down  stream,  then  his  thoughts  reverted  to  his  own 
far  off  glen  and  his  mother  and  sister,  and  he  would  have 
given  worlds — if  he  had  had  any  worlds  to  give — only  to 
see  them  for  one  short  hour  longer. 

For  hours  and  hours  he  stood  leaning  over  the  bulwarks 
like  one  in  a  dream — towns  and  villages  went  past,  and  all 
the  scenery  of  the  romantic  Clyde  flitted  by  him  like  scenes 
in  a  diorama,  but  he  hardly  seemed  to  notice  them — their 
beauty  was  all  lost  on  Stanley  Grahame. 

At  last  the  river  broadened  out  into  the  wide,  rolling 
frith,  and  the  frith  widened  into  the  sea.  The  tug-boat 


On  the   Wide  Atlantic.  47 

cast  them  adrift ;  farewells  were  said,  or  rather  shouted ; 
the  little  fussy  steamer  went  puffing  and  churning  away 
up-stream  again ;  and  sail  was  set  on  the  gallant  barque 
that  had  to  cross  the  wide  Atlantic  ere  ever  she  came  into 
harbour  again. 

Then  night  began  to  fall ;  the  stars  played  hide-and-seek 
among  the  fieec}'  clouds ;  the  wind  freshened,  and  the  sails 
bellied  out  to  it ;  there  was  the  sound  of  the  watch 
tramping  quickly  up  and  down  the  deck ;  an  occasional 
word  of  command  from  the  officer  on  duty ;  and  the  wish- 
wash  of  the  wavelets  against  the  vessel's  side,  and  that 
was  all.  Presently  it  grew  so  dark  that  Stanley  could  see 
nothing  but  the  stars  and  the  glimmering  light  of  a  distant 
lighthouse.  Then  he  turned  his  attention  in-board,  and  as 
there  was  a  broad  gleam  issuing  from  the  cabin  in  the  poop, 
he  bent  his  steps  in  that  direction. 

"Why,"  said  the  captain,  as  Stanley  entered,  hat  in  hand, 
"where  have  you  been,  my  lad?  I  had  sent  the  steward 
to  look  for  you  ;  he  couldn't  find  you,  so  we  both  came  to 
the  conclusion  that  you  had  crept  in  under  something  and 
gone  off  to  sleep." 

"  I  don't  feel  a  bit  sick,"  said  Stanley,  proudly ;  "  but 
then  I've  been  to  sea  before,  you  know,  sir.  I  made  one 
voyage." 

The  captain  laughed  right  heartily  when  Stanley  told 
him  that  the  one  voyage  had  been  between  Aberdeen  and 
Grantown  Pier  in  the  Tantallan  Castle.  The  Ocean  Bride 
was  a  barque  of  some  five  hundred  tons.  She  looked  all 
over  a  foreigner,  and  I  dare  say  at  one  time  had  belonged 
to  some  Danish  or  German  firm.  But  in  Stanley's  eyes 
she  was  everything  that  was  noble  and  romantic,  just  the 
sort  of  ship  he  had  always  thought  he  would  like  to  sail  in. 
She  was  all  painted  green,  with  sham  ports,  which  were 
black  ;  she  had  a  tall,  moonraking  kind  of  a  bowsprit,  tall, 
thinnish  spars,  and  long  yards.  Then  she  had  a  real  fore- 
castle, and  a  real  complete  poop  with  doors  that  went  into 


4  8  Stanley  Graham  f. 

it  straight  off  the  deck  without  going  a  single  step  down- 
stairs. And  the  ports  of  the  poop  were  perfect  windows  in 
size.  So  you  see  she  was  altogether  foreign-looking  in 
appearance.  But  so  comfortable  and  so  jolly  every  way ; 
quite  like  a  ship  you  would  see  in  a  picture.  The  men, 
too,  were  picturesque  enough.  They  were  young,  supple 
fellows,  and,  with  the  exception  of  the  officers,  they  all 
wore  blue  worsted  Guernsey  shirts,  like  fishermen,  and 
red  night-caps. 

The  captain  was  big,  burly,  brown-bearded,  and  fat,  and 
never  spoke  without  smiling. 

"Your  uncle  has  given  me  entire  charge  of  you,"  he  said, 
"  so  do  as  you  like ;  but  if  I  were  you  I  would  join  the 
mate's  watch,  and  learn  the  ropes,  and  how  to  splice  and 
reef  and  steer.  We'll  take  three  months,  maybe,  to  go  out, 
and  you  are  a  deal  better  on  an  honest  sailing-ship  than 
you'd  be  on  board  one  of  those  dirty,  new-fangled  puffing- 
billies.  Eh  !  lad,  don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

Stanley  did  think  so.  This  was  his  beau-ideal  of  a  ship. 
And  well  it  might  be  so.  His  whole  life  during  that  long 
voyage  was,  so  to  speak,  quite  idyllic.  He  did  do  as  he 
liked,  but  that  was  to  join  the  mate's  watch,  and  to  learn 
everything  from  that  kind,  good-natured  man  that  he 
possibly  could. 

The  captain  certainly  did  not  hurry  his  vessel,  and  if  the 
truth  must  be  told,  the  Ocean  Bride  was  a  ship  that  would 
not  be  hurried.  So  far  as  speed  went,  she  was  nowhere ; 
so  far  as  strength  and  comfort  went,  she  was  everything. 

They  really  did  take  nearly  three  months  to  complete  the 
voyage,  but  Stanley  would  not  have  minded  had  it  been  six. 
Everything  went  on  in  this  good,  lazy  old  soul  of  a  ship 
with  the  regularity  of  clockwork.  The  sailors,  day  or  night, 
never  neglected  to  strike  the  bells  at  the  proper  time,  and  the 
steward  was  never  one  minute  late  with  breakfast  or  dinner. 
When  becalmed  in  mid-Atlantic  the  captain  neither  fretted 
nor  fumed.  Were  the  wind  astern,  abeam,  ahead,  or  a 


Hardship^  to  Come.  49 

hurricane,  it  did  not  trouble  anybody;  things  went  on 
much  the  same  under  all  conditions.  I  verily  believe  that 
had  she  been  taken  aback — and  that  is  a  terrible  danger — 
the  captain  would  have  eased  her  in  five  minutes,  and  I 
feel  sure  he  would  not  have  taken  that  big  meerschaum — 
that  suited  his  complexion  so  well — out  of  his  mouth  all 
the  time. 

Stanley  Grahame  did  all  he  could  during  this  long,  happy 
voyage  to  make  himself  a  thorough  sailor,  or  as  perfect  as 
any  one  could  be  in  the  time. 

"  Oh  !  captain,"  he  said,  enthusiastically,  the  night  before 
they  arrived  at  New  York,  "  I've  been  so  happy  here. 
And  if  ever  I  have  a  chance,  I'll  sail  again  in  the  dear 
old  Ocean  Bride." 

"  Ah  !  boy,"  replied  the  captain,  as  he  sat  beside  the 
stove  in  his  big  arm-chair,  sipping  his  coffee,  "you  won't 
find  many  ships  like  this.  She  is  my  own,  you  know,  and 
I  never  do  anything  to  put  her  out.  But,  dear  lad,  if  you 
are  bound  to  be  a  sailor,  your  hardships  are  all  before  you." 

And  so  they  were,  reader. 


V. 


STANLEY  FINDS  A  NEW  PRIEND  —  TIIE  JOURNEY 
SOUTH—  PHJLADEL1IJ.IA  —  BAL  TJMORE  —  ARRIVAL 
AT  THE  OLD  PLANTATION. 


CHAPTER  V. 

STANLEY    FINDS    A    NEW    FRIEND THE     JOURNEY    SOUTH PHIL- 
ADELPHIA  BALTIMORE ARRIVAL    AT    THE    OLD    PLANTATION. 

OUR  hero's  introduction  to  his  uncle — in  the  flesh,  I 
mean — was  somewhat  original,  to  say  the  very 
least  of  it.  True  to  his  promise,  Captain  Mackinlay  had 
dispatched  a  trusty  servant  to  meet  the  boy,  as  soon  as  he 
had  telegraphed  his  arrival  in  New  York  city.  It  was  a  day 
or  two  before  honest  Sambo — for  that  was  the  negro's 
name — arrived,  and  during  that  time  Stanley  loca:ed  him- 
self— to  use  a  Yankee  expression — at  the  Westminster 
Hotel,  and  forthwith  set  about  seeing  all  the  sights  he  could. 

There  were  plenty  of  fellows  willing  to  "  tout"  him  around, 
but  he  very  wisely  treated  all  such  with  distrust.  What- 
ever he  wanted  to  know  he  sought  information  about  at  the 
office,  and  the  landlord  was  exceedingly  kind  to  him.  So 
Stanley  roamed  all  by  himself  in  the  beautiful  park,  and 
through  the  spacious  streets,  and  in  the  open  tree-clad 
squares. 

It  was  the  Indian  summer,  and  the  weather  was  genially 
warm  and  delightful. 

In  the  evenings  there  were  galleries  to  visit,  and  lecture 
rooms,  so  that,  on  the  whole,  Stan'ey  did  not  think  the 
time  long. 

But  one  morning  the  waiter  tapped  at  his  door  and 
brought  in  his  hot  water  and  a  great  jug  of  ice,  and  then 
coughed  and  said,  "There  is  a  coloured  'gentleman,'  sir, 
down  below  who  has  just  called  on  you.  I  reckon  you 


54  Stanley  Grahame. 

don't  want  to  see  any  one  of  that  sort.  Shall  I  tell  him  to 
go  about  his  business  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  cried  Stanley  Grahame,  springing  out  of  bed  ; 
"  that  is  my  uncle's  chief  servant,  and  he  has  called  to  take 
me  away.  Get  breakfast  for  us  both  in  twenty  minutes." 

The  waiter  smiled.  "  I  guess,  sir,"  he  said,  "  the  guv'nor 
wouldn't  care  to  have  a  coloured  gentleman  in  the  saloon 
among  white  folks,  unless  it  were  to  wait  at  the  table." 

Stanley,  young  as  he  was,  felt  angry.  Was  he  actually 
in  New  York?  Was  he  positively  among  the  people  who 
fought  and  bled  for  the  abolition  of  slavery  ? 

"  Bring  the  breakfast  here,"  he  said,  with  decision  ;  "  and 
tell  the  gentleman  to  come  up." 

The  waiter  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  retired. 

Shortly  after,  with  a  premonitory  tap  at  the  door,  Sambo 
himself  entered. 

Now  Stanley  had  seen  plenty  of  niggers  since  his  arrival 
in  New  York,  but  so  tall  and  sturdy  a  black  man  as  this  it 
had  never  before  been  his  lot  to  witness. 

He  stooped  low  as  he  came  in,  more  from  habit  probably 
than  anything  else,  for  the  bedroom  door  was  over  seven 
ieet  high. 

He  was  by  no  means  repulsive-looking,  however. 
What  a  cheerful  jolly  face  he  had  to  be  sure  !  And  when 
he  smiled,  which  he  did  very  often,  almost  whenever  he 
talked,  he  showed  a  mouthful  of  ivory  that  a  young  elephant 
might  have  envied. 

Sambo  was  on  particularly  good  terms  with  himself;  the 
fact  is,  he  was  the  pet  servant  of  old  Captain  Mackinlay,  his 
master. 

"  I'se  Sambo,"  he  said,  as  soon  as  his  head  was  through 
the  doorway,  "  and  I'se  come  to  fetch  you." 

Then  he  burst  out  laughingand  walked  right  round  Stanley, 
and  looked  at  him  up  and  down  and  all  over,  just  as  if  our 
young  hero  had  been  a  horse,  and  he  was  trying  to  find  out 
whether  or  not  he  were  fault  free  previous  to  purchase 


Sambo.  5  5 

"  Ah  !  Yah  !  "  he  laughed.  "  Yah  !  yah  !  yah  !  Am  you 
de  leetle  boy  I'se  sent  to  fetch  ?  Yah  !  yah  !  Why,  you  am 
nearly  as  big  as  dis  child  hisself,  and  massa  say  I'se  going  to 
meet  a  leetle  boy.  '  Only  twelve,'  he  say,  '  take  care  ob 
de  poor  leetle  chile,  Sambo,  take  care  ob  him.'  Yah  !  yah  ! 
yah  ! " 

Stanley  was  half  angry,  but  for  the  life  of  him  he  could 
not  help  smiling,  because  Sambo  laughed  so  heartily. 

Sambo  was  well  dressed  in  a  suit  of  black,  and  wore 
rings  on  his  fingers  as  big  as  knuckle-dusters,  and  a  gold 
watch  and  a  chain  of  gold  that  might  have  done  for  a  cable 
of  a  small  yacht — figuratively  speaking.  Except  the  fact 
that  he  more  than  once  burst  out  laughing  during  breakfa?*-, 
he  behaved  himself  in  a  most  exemplary  way.  In  face 
Stanley  and  he  were  soon  fast  friends.  The  breakfast  was 
a  wonderful  one.  You  do  not  get  such  breakfasts  anywhere 
out  of  America.  The  waiter  brought  delicious  fruit  and 
iced  milk  for  them  first,  and  with  these  they  trifled  until  the 
tea  and  coffee  and  cooked  dishes  came.  Stanley  had  never 
seen  such  a  beefsteak  before,  and  the  boiled  shad  would 
have  delighted  the  heart  of  an  epicure.  The  vegetables  too 
were  perfection,  and  so  were  the  eggs,  done  in  many 
different  ways.  When  Stanley  thought  it  was  all  over  the 
waiter  entered  with  hot  buckwheat  cakes  and  maple  syrup, 
and  of  course  they  had  to  do  their  duty  by  that. 

They  lingered  over  this  meal,  for  Sambo  was  in  fine 
form,  and  quite  delighted  the  boy  with  tales  about  his 
master  and  stories  about  "  de  dear  ole  plantation  among  de 
woods  cf  Virginny." 

Sambo,  although  a  black  man,  was  just  as  brave  as  he 
was  powerful  and  strong,  but  he  never  used  either  quality 
in  a  bad  cause.  He  was  also,  like  many  other  negroes  in 
the  Southern  States,  deeply  imbued  with  a  sense  of  religion, 
albeit  he  was  most  humorous  and  funny  in  nearly  every^. 
thing  secular  he  said  or  did.  With  this  description  of 
Sambo  the  reader  must  be  content  for  the  present,  as 


56  S fan  ley  Grahame. 

will  be  plenty  of  opportunities  of  judging  his  character  from 
his  actions. 

Stanley  and  he  were  to  start  together  for  the  sunny  south  ; 
meanwhile  our  hero  invited  the  negro  to  take  a  walk  with 
him  through  the  city,  and  to  attend  a  concert  with  him  in 
the  evening. 

Sambo  hesitated  and  looked  serious. 

"  You  see,  sah,"  he  said,  "  I'se  black ;  as  black,  sah,  as 
de  ace  of  spades ;  and  you  am  white.  What  you  tink  de 
New  York  Yankees  say  suppose  dey  see  me  walking  with 
a  young  gentleman  like  you  ?  Why,  dey  would  shudder 
in  dey  shoes." 

"Let  them  shudder,  Sambo  friend,"  said  Stanley,  boldly. 
"Give  me  your  arm;  now,  right  foot  foremost,  quick  march !" 

Sambo  laughed  now  right  heartily,  and  many  a  superci- 
lious eyeglass  was  directed  towards  the  couple  as  they  went 
strolling  up  the  Fifth  Avenue.  This  did  not  hurt  Sambo 
in  the  slightest,  and  I'm  sure  it  did  not  affect  Stanley. 

The  pair  dined  together  in  the  evening,  as  the}'  had 
breakfasted  in  the  morning,  and  next  day,  having  crossed 
the  water  in  one  of  those  wonderful  boats  for  which  New 
York  is  famed,  they  took  tickets  for  the  south. 

To  Philadelphia.     No  farther  the  first  day. 

"  Because,"  Sambo  explained,  "  old  massa,  he  gib  me 
'spress  orders  to  show  you  de  cities  of  Philadelphia,  Balti- 
more, and  Washington  afore  you  goes  home  to  de  ole 
plantation." 

To  Stanley,  only  recently  arrived  in  this  great  country, 
all  things  he  saw  combined  to  make  him  feel  as  if  he  had 
begun  a  new  life,  or  been  suddenly  dropped  down  into 
some  strange  new  planet.  The  great  cars  in  which  they 
rode  were  immense  saloons,  more  like  ships'  cabins,  with 
splendid  windows  and  cushioned  lounges  covered  with  cloth 
of  crimson.  Then  there  was  the  lovely  panorama  that  went 
flitting  past  them,  no  wild  mountains  and  dark  lowering 
glens  like  those  of  his  native  land,  but  green  fields  and 


Ph  Hade  lp  h  ia.  57 

broad-bosomed  rivers,  shimmering  in  the  sunlight,  peaceful 
little  villages,  with  quaintly-built  cottages,  so  mixed  up  with 
trees  that  Stanley  couldn't  help  wondering  whether  these 
pretty  wee  towns  had  been  built  in  the  woods,  or  whether 
the  trees  had  grown  up  around  them  after  they  were  built. 

There  were  long  stretches  of  wild  swamps  too,  where 
beautiful  birds  were  to  be  seen  in  the  water,  on  the  bushes, 
and  among  the  reeds,  and  here  man)7  trees  grew  in  copses, 
with  bright  flowers  on  them  as  broad  as  Stanley's  hat,  and 
wild  creepers  clinging  around  their  stems.  Then  came 
miles  on  miles  of  forest  land,  through  which  the  train  went 
purring  and  ploughing,  winding  here  and  winding  there, 
with  the  trees  close  to  the  rails  and  no  fence  of  any  kind 
between  them,  and  then  wonderful  bridges,  and  more 
villages,  and  bigger  towns,  and  somewhat  wilder  scenery  ; 
then  Philadelphia  herself — queen  of  cities. 

It  would  take  me  weeks  to  tell  you  all  that  Stanley  saw 
and  did  in  this  splendid  city,  in  its  streets  and  spacious 
squares,  in  its  wide  and  beautiful  park,  and  on  the  Schuyl- 
kill  and  the  Delaware,  called  by  the  Indians  in  times  long 
gone  past  the  Arasapha  or  Coaquanock. 

The  romantic  Wissatrickon  flows  silently  along  through 
a  valley,  mountain-guarded  and  densely  studded  with 
splendid  forest  trees,  that  render  the  winding  road  dark 
even  at  noontide. 

By  the  banks  of  this  strange  weird  river  Stanley 
wandered  all  by  himself,  amidst  the  mighty  oaks,  the  tall 
and  tapering  poplars,  and  far-spreading  chestnuts,  until 
the  rays  of  the  setting  sun,  shimmering  in  crimson  through 
the  ocean  of  foliage,  warned  him  that  the  gloaming  shadows 
would  soon  give  place  to  night.  Then  he  retraced  his  steps 
homewards  to  the  distant  city.  But  he  could  not  help, 
whilst  lingering  by  the  edge  of  the  quiet  stream,  remember- 
ing many  things  he  had  read  about  this  country  and  its 
earlier  history,  when  sitting  by  his  mother's  cottage  fire  far 
away  in  bonnie  Scotland.  Of  the  dark,  impenetrable  forest 


58  Stanley  Grahame. 

that  once  waved  where  now  the  houses  stood  ;  of  the  un- 
broken stillness  that  reigned  in  its  depths,  save  in  sunny 
glades  where  wild  Indians  built  their  wigwams  ;  of  the 
brave  pioneers  who  first  landed  on  Delaware  shores,  of 
their  sufferings  and  their  deeds  of  daring,  of  the  homes  they 
made  in  the  caves  of  the  rocks,  and  of  their  wild  adven- 
tures among  the  red  men, — all  these  things  and  a  hundred 
others  came  crowding  into  his  mind  as  he  slowly  returned 
to  the  city  through  noble  Fairmont  Park. 

Ah  !  but  in  the  blaze  of  gaslight  such  thoughts  were  soon 
dispelled,  and  when  he  entered  the  hotel  he  found  Sambo 
anxiously  awaiting  his  arrival  in  the  hall,  for  he  had  quite 
given  up  his  charge  as  lost.  After  their  reunion,  if  there 
were  any  shadows  of  the  long-forgotten  past  still  hovering 
over  the  soul  of  our  hero,  they  fled  far  away  at  the  sight  of 
the  dinner  that  the  busy  bustling  waiter  placed  before  them. 

Next  day  they  continued  their  journey  southwards  to 
Baltimore.  Stanley,  young  as  he  was,  was  charmed  with  this 
quaint  but  beautiful  old  city.  He  must  needs  roam  abroad 
all  by  himself  and  see  the  sights  and  seek  for  adventures. 
These  latter,  however,  were  of  a  very  mild  description,  for 
his  wilder  adventures — "  his  moving  accidents  by  flood  and 
field  and  hair-breadth  'scapes  " — were  all  to  come.  But 
the  sights  he  saw  were  pleasant  in  the  extreme.  After  he 
had  wandered  all  over  the  town  he  must  needs  climb  to  the 
top  of  the  Washington  monument  and  see  the  city  and 
country  all  around  from  that  great  altitude.  This  is, 
allowing  for  the  simplicity  of  its  shape,  one  of  the  finest 
monuments  I  have  ever  seen.  The  eminence  on  which  it 
stands  is  in  the  centre  of  a  beautiful  square,  and  is  one 
hundred  feet  above  tide  level.  On  this  hill  the  square  base 
of  the  monument  has  been  erected,  fifty  feet  square  and 
nearly  forty  feet  high.  From  the  centre  of  this  towers  the 
great  white  marble  Doric  column,  twenty  feet  in  diameter 
at  the  base,  fifteen  feet  at  the  top,  and  one  hundred  and 
sixty-five  feet  high.  It  is  surmounted  by  a  splendid  gallery, 


halumore*  59 

with  seats,  the  roof  being  the  vaulted  sky,  and  high  above 
this  gallery  stands,  on  its  immense  pedestal,  the  statue  of 
the  immortal  Washington. 

The  dark  staircase  winds  up  the  centre  of  the  monument, 
and  up  this,  lantern  in  hand, 
like  some  young  Guy  Fawkes, 
crawled  Stanley  Grahame. 
Mountaineer  as  he  was,  he 
was  breathless  ere  he  came 
out  at  the  top  into  the  fresh 
air  and  glorious  sunshine. 

The  day  had  been  fiercely 
hot,  but  up  aloft  here  a  cool 
delicious  breeze  was  blow- 
ing, a  bright  blue  sky  was 
overhead,  and,  asleep  in  the 
blue,  one  or  two  little  snow- 
white  clouds  ;  but  the  gran- 
deur and  beauty  of  the 
scenery  that  lay  far,  far  down  beneath  him  en  every  side 
defies  description.  He  was  in  the  centre  of  a  star  of  streets, 
30  to  speak,  each  one  of  which,  broad  and  tree-lined, 
stretched  away  and  away  through  the  lovely  town  into  the 
charming  country  beyond,  where  : — 

"Through  many  a  wild  and  woodland  scene, 
Meandered  the  streams  with  waters  of  green, 
As  if  the  bright  fringe  of  herbs  on  the  brink 
Had  given  their  stain  to  the  waters  they  drink." 

The  tall  steeples  and  innumerable  public  buildings  of  the 
city  stood  well  out  from  the  red  of  the  brick  houses. 
Greener  trees  Stanley  had  never  seen,  redder  houses  never. 
And  no  smoke  was  there  at  all  to  disfigure  or  blur  the 
view.  Yonder  lies  the  city  hall  with  marble  walls  and 
giant  cupola,  yonder  the  great  cathedral  with  mosque-like 
roof  and  gilded  domes  and  minarets,  and  still  farther  away 
the  long  white  lines  of  Fort  Henry  clear  against  the  blue 


60  Stanley  Grahame. 

of  the  sail-dotted  bay  beyond,  and  all  around  on  the  land 
side  a  glamour  of  rocks  and  woods  and  cliffs  and  fields  oi 
green  stretching  northwards  as  far  as  eye  can  reach,  and 
eastwards  into  the  invisible. 

Stanley,  ere  he  returned  to  his  hotel,  paused  by  the 
sjdc  of  a  beautiful  monument  erected  to  the  memory  of 
one  of  America's  noblest  sons,  John  McDonogh,  who  dying 
old  and  well-stricken  in  years,  left  his  immense  wealthrto 
found  an  institution  for  the  education  of  poor  children. 
Stanley  could  not  help  transcribing  in  his  nofe-book  a 
portion  of  the  inscriptions  on  the  marble  tablets.  They 
read  as  follows,  and  are  well  worthy  of  being  remembered : — 

Rules  for  my  guidance  in  life :   Remember  that  labour  is  one 

of    the    conditions    of  our    existence.        Time    is   gold ; 

throw  not  one  minute  away,  but  place  each  one  to 

account.  Do  unto  all  men  as  you  would  be  done 

by.    Never  put  off  till  to-morrow  that  which 

you  can  do  to-day.      Never  bid  another 

do  what  you  can  do  yourself.   Never 

covet    what  is  not  your  own.      Never 

think  any  matter  so  trivial  as  not  to  deserve 

notice.      Never  give  out  that  which   does   not 

first  come  in.     Never  spend  but  to  produce.      Let  the 

greatest  order  regulate  the  transactions  of  your  life.  Study 

in  the  course  of  your  life  to  do  the  greatest  possible  amount  of  good. 

Deprive    yourself  of 
nothing  necessary  to  your 
comfort,  but  live  in  an  honour- 
able simplicity  and  frugality.  Labour 
then  to  the  last  moment  of  your  exist- 
ence.      Pursue     strictly      the     above     rules, 
and   the    Divine    blessing    and    riches    of   every 
kind    will    flow    upon    you    to   your    heart's    content ; 
but     first    of    all     remember    that    the     chief    and    great 
study    of    your    life    should    be   to   tend    by    all    the    means 
in   your  power    to   the  honour  and    glory  of  the  Divine  Creator. 

The  conclusion  to  which  I  have  arrived  is 
that  without  temperance  there  is  no  health,  without  virtue  no  order, 

without  religion  no  happiness,  and  the 
sum  of  our  being  is  to  live  wisely,  soberly,  and  righteously. 


At  the  Plantation.  61 

Two  days  after  the  hero  of  our  tale  had  left  Baltimore 
with  his  sable  friend  Sambo,  they  found  themselves  on  the 
old  plantation.  It  was  a  beautiful  sunny  forenoon,  and  the 
estate  never  looked  to  better  advantage.  No  wonder  that 
Stanley  stood  amazed  at  the  beauty  and  the  evidences  of 
wealth  he  saw  everywhere  around  him. 

"  Now,"  said  Sambo,  "  we  will  have  some  fun.  Dat  tall 
ole  gentleman  walking  on  de  lawn  is  Captain  Mackin- 
lay.  Now  you  come  up  behind  dis  snake-fence  wid  me,  I 
hide  behind,  den  }rou  jump  ober  and  make  believe  to 
cross  de  lawn  widout  eber  lookin'  de  road  of  Captain 
Mackinlay,  and  we  shall  see  what  we  shall  see.  Ah  !  Yah  ! 
it  will  be  fun." 

Stanley  carried  out  Sambo's  instructions  to  the  very 
letter,  with  the  following  interesting  result. 

"  Hi !  hi !  hullo,  you  sir  !  "  This  from  Captain  Mackin- 
lay, as  Stanley  essayed  to  cross  the  lawn.  "  Interloper, 
scoundrel,  trespasser,  how  dare  you  come  on  my  grounds, 
without  permission  ?  " 

"  Well,  sir "  began  Stanley. 

"  Don't  '  well,  sir '  me,  sir  !  Hi !  hullo  there,  Be-Joyful 
Johnson;  run  here,  will  you.  Bundle  this  young  scoundrel 
out  of  the  grounds,  and  drop  him  into  the  pond." 

Be-Joyful  was  a  powerful-looking  but  rather  thin-skinned 
negro,  who  now  came  bounding  up  to  do  his  master's  bidding. 
"  Look  here,  Captain  Mackinlay,"  cried  Stanley,  throwing 
himself  into  an  attitude,  "  call  off  your  nigger,  or  I'll  hit 
him — and  properly,  too.  Old  Ewen  told  me  never  to  hit 
a  man  except  in  self-defence,  but  when  I  did  hit  to — ah  ! 
would  you  ?  Hands  off! — there,  then!" 

Next  moment  the  big  negro  was  sprawling  on  his  back, 
kicking  the  sky  with  his  heels,  rubbing  his  nose  and  shins, 
and  hallooing  like  a  Houdan  cock.  But  high  above  his 
hallooing  rose  the  merry  "  Yah  !  yah  !  yah  ! "  of  honest 
Sambo  hid  behind  the  snake-fence. 

"  Now  then,  sir,"  cried  young  Stanley,  "  will  you  call   off 


62  Stanley  Grahame. 

your  nigger  before  I  repeat  the  dose  cum  grano  satis,  as  we 
say  at  school  ?  " 

It  was  very  mischievous  of  Stanley,  but  you  must  forgive 
him  ;  for  he  couldn't  for  the  life  of  him  help  adding,  as  he 
saw  his  uncle  making  a  pretence  of  fumbling  for  his 
revolver, — 

"  Don't  trouble  yourself,  Sandy  McKail — don't  bother 
drawing  your  kilt-pin  upon  me.  I'm  not  Carrots." 

"Carrots!  Kilt-pin!  Sandy  McKail?"  exclaimed  the 
old  gentleman,  aghast.  "Why,  young  sir,  who  are  you,  in 
the  name  of  all  that  is  mysterious  ?  " 

"  Why,  just  little  Stanley  Grahame,  your  nephew  !  "  said 
our  hero,  laughing. 

It  would  have  done  you  good  to  have  seen  the  captain's 
face  just  then.  A  full  moon  breaking  clear  away  from  the 
clouds,  and  shining  out  bright  and  serene  from  the  blue 
sky,  was  nothing  to  it. 

He  grasped  Stanley's  hand.  Stanley  thought  of  the  time 
when  he  got  his  fingers  into  the  threshing-machine. 

"  Welcome  to  Beaumont  Park  !  "  he  cried ;  "  thrice 
welcome,  my  best  of  boys — my  brave  boy  !  " 

"  Get  up,  you  lazy,  lubberly  lout ! ''  This  to  Be- Joyful, 
who,  by  the  way,  was  joyful  no  longer. 

"  You  doubled  him  up  in  first-rate  style,"  he  continued  ; 
"and  the  touch  you  gave  him  on  the  shins  with  your  toe 
was  truly  artistic — ha !  ha  !  ha  !  I  couldn't  have  done  it 
better  myself.  But  come  on  to  the  house." 

He  pulled  Stanley's  arm  through  his  own  as  he  spoke, 
and  with  Sambo  coming  grinning  up  behind,  and  Be-Joyful 
limping  and  wincing,  jff  marched  the  sailor  uncle  and  the 
young  nephew  for  the  manor  house. 


VI. 

BEAUMON7  PARK— DOWN  THE  RIVER— CRUISING  ON 
AN  INLAND  SEA— THE  DARK  CONTINENT. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

BEAUMONT  PARK — DOWN  THE    RIVER CRUISING    ON    AN  INLAND 

SEA THE  DARK  CONTINENT. 

IT  was  Captain  Mackinlay's  habit  to  linger  long  over  his 
dessert.  He  retained  old-fashioned  English  customs, 
and  one  of  these  was  dinner  at  six.  Stanley  did  not  mind 
how  long  he  lingered  at  dessert,  for  the  fruit  was  more 
varied  and  delicious  than  he  ever  could  have  dreamt  of, 
and  the  tiny  cups  of  black  coffee  that  the  negro  servant 
placed  before  them  must  have  been  identically  similar — so 
thought  Stanley — to  that  which  graced  the  board  of  the 
author  of  the  "Arabian  Nights." 

"  Yes,"  said  Captain  Mackinlay  one  evening  as  he  pared 
a  pineapple,  "  that  is  what  I  propose.  I  don't  say  you  are 
too  young  to  go  to  sea,  and,  really,  you're  big  enough,  but 
a  year  here  at  home  won't  hurt  you.  You'll  cheer  the  old 
man's  life  a  bit,  and  it  is  pretty  near  worried  out  of  him 
with  these  rascally  niggers,  for,  bar  Sambo  there,  who  is  as 
good  as  nuggets,  never  a  one  of  them  will  do  as  I  want 
them.  So  I  say  stop  with  the  old  man  for  a  year  or  two  ; 
you  already  know  a  jib-sail  from  a  gigot  o'  mutton.  Well, 
I'll  try  and  teach  you  something  else,  and  so  will  Sambo. 
He  was  my  steward  in  the  old  Nonpareil;  ay,  lad,  and 
could  take  his  turn  at  the  wheel,  too,  with  the  best  hand  on 
board.  We'll  make  a  man  of  you,  and  then  we'll  drum  }'ou 
off  to  sea." 

Captain  Mackinlay,  who  was  just  a  year  on  the  shady 
side  of  sixty,  had  been  at  sea  nearly  all  his  life  in  all  kinds 

5 


66  Stanley  Grahame. 

of  trades  and  in  all  kinds  of  countries,  had  made  his  fortune, 
and  the  plantation,  the  manor,  and  estate  of  Beaumont 
Park  had  been  left  to  him  by  an  old  lady  whose  life  he  had 
saved  in  the  Andaman  Islands.  She  had  been  carefully 
fed  and  fattened  by  the  cannibals,  who  had  been  so  extra- 
ordinarily polite  to  her  that  until  the  very  last  moment  she 
had  not  the  faintest  notion  they  meant  to  spit  and  cook  and 
eat  her.  But  brave  Captain  Mackinlay,  hearing  there  was 
a  white  captive  on  an  island,  and  that  a  great  festival  was 
about  to  take  place,  with  the  beating  of  tomtoms,  much 
ululation,  and  a  vast  deal  of  conchation,  landed  with  an 
armed  boat's-crew,  made  short  work  of  the  savages,  spoiled 
their  fun,  ruined  their  hopes  of  a  glorious  feast,  and  de- 
livered the  old  lady  from  the  imminent  peril  of  becoming 
a  cold  side-dish. 

So  this  bluff  and  hearty  old  sailor  settled  down  at  Beau- 
mont ;  and  a  splendid  place  it  was.  I  cannot  tell  you 
exactly  in  what  style  of  architecture  the  house  was  built. 
I  dare  say  it  was  a  kind  of  mixture,  partly  English  (if  that 
is  anything)  and  partly  Italian.  It  was  built  of  solid  stone 
— greystone ;  but  you  could  not  have  told  that  easily,  it 
was  so  bedraped  in  creepers  and  clinging  fruit-trees.  The 
mauve-blossomed  gigantic  wisterias  clustered  high  around 
the  tall  chimneys,  Virginia's  glory  almost  hid  the  windows, 
and  the  numerous  verandahs  and  queer  old-fashioned  gables 
were  all  a  smother  of  roses  nearly  half  the  year  round. 

Then  there  were  terraces,  rose-lawns,  'and  shrubberies 
and  lakes,  and  the  glorious  wooded  park  itself,  where  oaks 
and  hickory  and  elm,  and  chestnut  and  pine  trees  grew  ; 
besides  groves  and  grottoes,  and  ferneries  and  fountains,  and 
what  not.  No  wonder  that,  listening  to  Stanley  Grahame's 
sincere  outspoken  admiration,  the  captain  laughed  and 
said, — 

"  Ay,  dear  boy,  it  is  a  sweetly  pretty  place,  I  grant  you. 
I  dare  say  you  wouldn't  mind  saving  an  old  wife  irom 
cannibals  for  such  a  snug  little  estate — eh  ?" 


Scenery.  67 

"  Oh  !"  cried  Stanley,  doubling  his  f-st ;  "  I'd  save  fifty 
old  wives  for  half  such  a  nice  place  as  this." 

The  plantation  proper,  where  the  sugar-mills  were,  and 
where  the  cotton-sheds  were  built,  and  where  hundreds  oi 
dark-skinned,  white-garmented  negroes  worked  and  sang  in 
the  sunlight,  was  fully  a  mile  from  the  park,  and  to  the 
east  of  it.  To  the  north  were  wild  mountain  peaks,  the 
home  of  the  black  bear,  the  python,  and  the  puma ;  to  the 
west  the  dark  forest-lands  where  the  red  men  still  roamed 
at  will ;  while  down  to  the  south  flowed  the  great  river. 

A  country  like  this,  it  need  hardly  be  sai^;  possessed  an 
indescribable  charm  for  a  boy  of  Stanley's  nature  and  dis- 
position. The  novels  and  poems  of  the  great  Sir  Walter 
were  especial  favourites  of  his,  and  so,  too,  were  the  tales 
of  the  best  American  writers,  especially  those  that  told  of 
the  warlike  doings  of  the  Indians  of  the  forest-lands  of  the 
Far  West.  And  here  he  was  among  them.  Stay  a  year 
with  his  uncle  ?  Indeed,  indeed,  he  thought  he  could  well 
spend  ten,  in  this  country  of  poetry  and  romance. 

But  his  uncle  g<~ve  him  distinctly  to  understand  that, 
much  though  he  valued  his  company,  and  willingly  though 
he  would  have  him  with  him  always — even  to  the  end, 
which  in  the  common  course  of  nature  could  not  be  so  very 
far  away — he  must  go  out  into  the  world  and  work,  as  he, 
his  uncle,  had  done  before  him.  Then — this  was  only  a 
mere  hint — if  he  should  prove  himself  a  worthy  young  man, 
there  was  no  saying  what  good  fortune  might  or  might 
not  accrue  to  him  when  Captain  Mackinlay  rested  from  all 
the  toils  of  life  in  the  green  churchyard,  and  under  the 
shadow  of  the  little  kirk  in  the  adjoining  village  he  now 
worshipped  in  Sunday  after  Sunday. 

One  day  Captain  Mackinlay  roused  Stanley  out  of  bed  at 
three  o'clock  in  the  morning. 

Stanley  sat  up  rubbing  his  eyes  and  wondering  if  the 
house  was  on  fire. 

"  Get  up,  my  boy,"  cried  his  uncle    patting  him  on  the 


68  Stanley  Grahame. 

shoulder ;  "  get  up,  if  you  really  are  awake  We  are  going 
on  a  long  journey  down  stream,  and  we'll  have  some  rare 
fun,  you  can  stake  your  shoes  on  that." 

Stanley  did  not  want  to  stake  his  shoes,  but  he  was  up 
and  dressed  and  had  them  on  just  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
after  this.  And  downstairs  into  the  breakfast-parlour, 
where  salmon  cutlets,  beef-steaks,  and  turkeys'  eggs  awaited 
patiently  the  coming  onslaught.  And  there,  too,  was  the 
old  captain,  flanked  by  a  pot  of  fragrant  tea,  and  looking 
radiant,  hungry,  and  happy.  After  breakfast  they  both 
felt  fit  for  the  long  row  down  stream.  Snmbo  was  the 
oarsman,  and  how  he  did  make  that  little  skiff  bound  along, 
to  be  sure. 

The  woods  looked  gorgeous  in  their  autumn  tints,  and 
twenty  miles  of  panorama  passed  them  by  in  no  time.  It 
seemed  all  one  beautiful  dream. 

Then  they  came  to  a  bonnie  wee  village,  with  white- 
-  painted  wooden  houses,  and  windows  with  bright  green 
jalousies.  And  here  there  was  a  pier,  where  a  great 
steamer  was  puffing  and  snorting  just  like  a  hunter  im- 
patient to  be  off. 

"  Come  along,  Captain  Mackinlay ! "  cried  the  ship- 
master, extending  a  friendly  hand,  and  half  pulling  our  hero 
on  board.  "  I  was  waiting  for  you ;  but,  bless  your  beam- 
ing face  !  I  wouldn't  have  dropped  down  stream  without  you 
for  all  the  world  !  Are  you  ready  for  breakfast  ?" 

"  For  breakfast  number  two,  yes,"  said  Stanley's  uncle, 
laughing.  "  We've  had  a  snack  already,  haven't  we,  Stan, 
my  boy?" 

Stanley  laughed  when  he  thought  of  the  steaks  and 
salmon  cutlets,  but  his  row  had  made  him  hungry — he  was 
only  a  boy. 

It  was  quite  night,  although  not  very  dark,  when  they 
at  length  reached  the  glancing  lights  of  a  bustling  town. 
Stanley  did  not  see  much  of  it  that  evening,  but  he  slept  so 
soundly  that  when  he  awoke  at  last  the  sun  was  streaming 


Summer  Again.  69 

into  his  bedroom,  and,  everything  around  him  being  strange, 
it  was  some  time  before  he  could  remember  where  he  was. 

Now  Stanley  considered  himself  a  good  walker,  but  he 
thought  before  sunset  that  day  that  he  had  never  really 
known  what  walking  was  till  then.  There  seemed  to  be  no 
such  thing  as  "  tire  "  in  Captain  Mackinlay.  Then  it  was 
so  hot !  When  they  returned  to  the  hotel  his  uncle  laugh- 
ingly asked  him  how  he  felt. 

"  Let  me  see,"  said  Stanley,  laughing  in  turn. 

"  Tell  the  whole  truth,  now,"  said  his  uncle. 

"  Well,  then,  I  will,"  continued  Stanley.  "  I'm  as  limp 
as  a  salmon  out  of  season.  I'm  as  tired  as  if  I'd  been  up 
and  down  Ben  Nevis  half-a-dozen  times  at  least.  My  feet 
are  too  big  for  my  boots,  the  sun  has  taken  all  the  skin  off 
the  point  of  my  nose,  my  eyes  feel  like  roasted  onions,  and 
there  is  a  collection  of  cinders  or  something  in  the  corners 
of  them,  and  I've  been  sweating  so  much  that  my  clothes 
feel  like  linseed-meal  poultices,  and  my  handkerchief — look 
at  it  I — is  as  grimy  and  wet  as  an  engine  rag  ! " 

"  Capital  description  !"  cried  his  uncle.  "  And  now,  my 
boy,  go  and  have  a  bath  and  a  dry  shirt,  and  then  come 
down  to  dinner." 

"  I  feel  as  fresh  as  a  daisy  ! "  said  Stanley,  bursting  into 
the  room  about  half-an-hour  after. 

He  put  one  arm  lovingly  round  his  uncle's  broad  neck. 
"  Dear  uncle/'  he  said,  "  you  are  so  kind  !  What  a  day  I 
have  had  of  it !  and  that  repeating  rifle  you  bought  me  is 
simply  perfection.  Won't  I  bag  the  bears  !" 

"  Always  providing,"  his  uncle  put  in,  "  the  bears  don't 
bag  you,  Stan  !  They  are  wonderfully  affectionate,  and 
when  they  do  get  their  paws  round  a  man  or  a  boy  they 
never  know  when  to  leave  off  hugging  and  clawing  him  !" 

Six  months  after  this  visit  summer  had  once  more  visited 
the  old  plantation.  Although  he  was  very  far  indeed  from 
forgetting  his  mother's  humble  co.tage  on  the  verge  of  the 
great  forest  of  Cairntrie,  Stanley  Grahame  was  much  too 


7<~>  Stanley  Grahame. 

brave  a  boy  to  suffer  the  pangs  of  home-sickness,  albeit  he 
looked  forward  to  the  happy  time  when  he  should  once 
more  meet  in  joy  those  he  loved  and  held  so  dear.  He 
wrote  home  regularly  twice  a  week  such  delightfully  de- 
scriptive letters,  telling  of  the  strange  romantic  life  he  led 
on  the  banks  of  the  Mississippi,  of  his  exploits  in  the  forest, 
of  wanderings  over  the  prairie  lands,  and  pleasant  evenings 
spent  rowing  on  the  river  beneath  the  light  of  the  pale 
moon. 

But  the  last  six  months  had  flown  away  wonderfully  far-t. 
What  had  he  done  ? — what  had  he  learned  ?  Had  his 
time  been  all  spent  in  one  round  of  pleasure,  with  every 
duty  banished  therefrom,  or  had  he  been  making  prepara- 
tions for  the  serious  battle  of  life  upon  which  he  was  so 
soon  to  enter  ? 

Let  us  see. 

Captain  Mackinlay  was  a  very  pleasant  man,  but  he  had 
a  terribly  strict  notion  of  the  sacredness  of  duty. 

"I'll  superintend  your  studies,  my  lad,"  he  told  Stanley, 
about  a  month  after  he  had  settled  down.  "  Now,"  he  con- 
tinued, "your  forenoons  must  be  all  work,  work,  work; 
and  after  that  until  bedtime  it  can  be  all  play,  play,  play ; 
and  I  don't  think  we'll  make  Jack  a  dull  boy  if  we  go  on  in 
that  style." 

Stanley  was,  like  most  Scotch  boys  of  the  middle  class  of 
life,  a  fail  scholar,  both  classical  and  mathematical.  He 
had  never  studied  navigation,  however.  But  that  now 
formed  part  of  his  forenoon  work,  and  in  a  few  months  he 
was  a  good  sailor,  theoretically  speaking.  But  was  this 
all  ?  No,  for  Mackinlay  owned  a  yacht.  It  had  lain  unused 

for  years  at  the  distant  town  of  D ,  but  as  soon  as  he 

had  made  up  his  mind  to  "  make  a  man  of  Stanley  Gra- 
hame," he  had  her  rigged  out  and  refitted  from  stem  to 
stern  ;  and  one  day,  much  to  Stanley's  joy,  she  came  grace- 
fully gliding  up  the  stream,  and  was  moored  ofF  Beaumont 
Park.  There  was  a  tributary  of  the  great  river  not  many 


Cruising  on  an  Inland  Sia.  7  i 

miles  distant.  It  was  navigable  to  a  clever  sailor,  and  ere 
long  it  led  to  an  immense  mountain-bounded  lake  of  water 
— quite  an  inland  sea,  in  fact.  And  wild  and  rough  enough 
in  all  conscience  this  lake  used  to  be  at  times,  swept  by 
winds  that  few  yachts  could  beat  against,  and  roughened  by 
white  combing  waves  houses  high,  which  it  required  both 
tact  and  skill  to  prevent  pouring  their  solid  waters  inboard, 
or  mayhap  sweeping  the  decks. 

On  the  inland  sea  Mackinlay  often  went  cruising  for  a 
whole  week  or  more  at  a  time.  Very  pleasant  little  outings 
for  Stanley  those  were  when  the  weather  was  fine ;  when 
it  was  not  he  bore  his  hardships  manfully,  and  did  not 
even  grumble  in  thought.  His  uncle  knew  every  cove 
and  creek  and  natural  harbour  all  about  and  around  the 
lake ;  and  when  the  wind  freshened  to  a  regular  gale  that 
it  would  have  been  sheer  folly  or  madness  to  battle  against 
— well,  then  the  yacht  was  borne  up  or  run  for  one  of 
these,  and  they  lay  snug  enough  until  such  time  as  the 
weather  moderated. 

To  land  in  the  silence  and  solitude  of  those  primeval 
forests  was  not  always  judicious  nor  safe,  for  they  were 
oftentimes  scoured  by  roving  parties  of  treacherous  tribes 
of  Indians — red  men — who,  although  they  had  in  reality 
left  their  distant  villages  and  homes  in  the  mountain  fast- 
nesses of  the  West  on  hunting  expeditions,  would  at  any 
moment  declare  themselves  to  be  on  the  war-path,  in  order 
to  gloss  over  with  a  semblance  of  rude  justice  deeds  of 
murder  and  rapine. 

There  were  bears  in  those  backwoods  as  well  as  wild 
men,  and  in  the  swamps  hideous  alligators,  that  often  made 
night  hideous  with  their  bellowings. 

Before  they  had  made  many  cruises  in  their  saucy  yacht, 
and  many  expeditions  on  the  hunting-grounds  that  lay  to 
the  north  and  west  of  the  great  lake,  Stanley  met  several 
parties  of  these  wandering  red  men,  and  he  found  them  not 
quite  the  same  class  of  individuals  he  was  wont  to  read  oi 


Stanley  Grahame. 


in  books  at  home.     They  could  be  friendly  or  the  reverse, 
just  as  it  suited  them. 

"  I  would  never  trust  a  redskin  farther  than  I  could  fling 
him."  That  was  how  Captain  Mackinlay  summed  up  the 
character  of  these  "  braves,"  and  before  long  Stanley  Gra- 
hame had  an  adventure — to  be  detailed  in  next  chapter— 
that  tau^at  him  how  true  were  his  uncle's  words.  It 


taught  him  something  else  which  in  after  life  he  never 
forgot — namely,  caution  in  all  his  dealings  with  savages. 

Mackinlay's  yacht  was  a  forty-tonner.  Her  name  was 
the  Saucy,  and  saucy  she  was  in  every  way.  The  crew  all 
told  consisted  of  Stanley's  uncle,  Stanley  himself,  bold 
Sambo,  and  a  mulatto  man.  Sambo  was  very  clever  in 
many  ways,  but  especially  as  a  sailor.  He  was  worth  a 
deck-load  of  Lascars  or  Kroon.en.  Perhaps  he  had  Mac- 


The  Dark  Continent.  73 

kinlay  to  thank  for  his  tuition,  and  he  (Sambo)  became 
Stanley's  tutor  in  turn. 

But  he  not  only  taught  our  young  hero  the  manual  labour 
of  the  upper  deck,  he  taught  him  something  else — namely, 
the  languages  of  the  Somali  Indians  and  the  Seedies,  and 
the  dialects  of  the  various  other  tribes  or  nations  that  lived 
on  the  eastern  shores  of  that  dark  continent,  Africa. 

That  was  the  land  of  Sambo's  birth,  and  there  he  had 
spent  the  greater  part  of  his  life. 

Seated  by  the  blazing  pine  logs  in  Sambo's  hut  in  the 
winter  evenings,  Stanley  used  to  listen  entranced  to  many 
a  strange  tale  of  adventure,  the  scene  of  which  was  laid  in 
the  African  wilds,  or  on  the  bosom  of  the  billowy  ocean 
that  laves  its  coralline  shores. 

Sambo's  language  was  very  simple,  and  his  voice  soft 
and  sibilant,  but  all  the  more  impressive  on  that  account. 
There  must  have  been  a  deal  of  poetry  in  the  man's  nature, 
for  he  seemed  positively  entranced  as  he  dwelt  upon  the 
weird  beauty  of  the  scenery  in  and  around  his  native  land. 
Its  opaline  seas  studded  with  fairy  islands  ;  its  deep,  dark 
creeks  and  inlets,  green-fringed  with  drooping  mangroves ; 
its  silent  and  solitary  forests,  where  bright-winged  birds 
flit  songlessly  from  bough  to  bough,  but  where  trumpet  of 
elephant  and  roar  of  lion  may  still  be  heard  by  night ;  its 
broad-bosomed  rivers;  its  mighty  sand-banks,  on  which 
all  the  strength  of  the  Indian  Ocean  breaks  and  thunders 
continuously ;  its  mountains  and  cataracts ;  its  glens  and 
lakes, — of  all  these  spoke  Sambo.  But  when  he  talked  of 
the  terrible  slave-trade,  with  its  attendant  horrors,  then  all 
the  fire  of  his  nature  seemed  to  burn  and  blaze  in  his  eyes. 
He  was  no  longer  the  humble  valet  of  Stanley's  uncle.  He 
seemed  a  chief,  a  prince,  a  hero,  who,  sword  in  hand, 
would  fight  and  free  his  darling  native  land  from  the  curse 
of  a  heartless  invader. 

"Oh!"  young  Stanley  Grahame  would  say,  "it  is  to 
this  land  of  yours,  dear  Sambo,  I  fain  would  sail.  It  is 


74  Stanley  Grahame. 

there  I  would  like  to  travel  and  roam.  Dangers  ?  Don'l 
talk  to  me,  Sambo,  of  dangers.  Young  as  I  am,  a  boy  in 
years,  I  feel  a  man  in  strength,  and  I  do  not  forget  that  I 
come  of  a  brave  Scottish  clan,  who  for  hundreds  of  year? 
have  wielded  the  sword  in  the  cause  of  right.  Sambo,  I 
have  made  up  my  mind.  If  my  uncle  doesn't  get  me  an 
appointment  in  some  vessel  sailing  away  to  this  dark  con- 
tinent of  yours,  I'll  go  back  again  to  my  native  Highland 
glen  and  herd  the  sheep  with  old  Ewen,  or  chase  the  wild 
deer  in  the  forest  of  Cairntrie.  There  !" 


Vll. 
A   NIGHT  ADVENTURE   ON    THE   INLAND  SEA 


CHAPTER  VII. 

A  NIGHT  ADVENTURE  ON  THE  INLAND  SEA. 

Q  TANLEY  GRAHAME  was  an  apt  pupil,  and  his  dark- 
vj}  skinned  tutor  Sambo  was  justly  proud  of  him. 

"  Der  am  jus'  one  ting,"  said  the  latter  one  day,  laughing 
all  over— and  this  is  no  empty  figure  of  speech,  for  when 
Sambo  laughed  he  did  laugh.  The  spirit  of  mirth  got  a 
hold  of  him,  as  it  were,  wreathed  all  his  round  face  with 
smiles,  almost  hid  his  eyes,  but  made  up  for  doing  so  by 
exposing  two  rows  of  alabaster  teeth,  and  ended  by  shaking 
him  from  head  to  heel.  "  Der  am  jus'  one  ting,  Massa 
Stanley,  yah  !  yah  1  You  is  perhaps  jus'  a  leetle  bit  too 
big  for  a  sailor." 

Stanley  was  sensible  enough  of  this  fact,  very  disagree- 
ably sensible  at  times,  when  the  main-boom,  for  instance, 
came  round  with  a  rush  and  carried  his  cap  overboard,  and 
very  nearly  the  head  that  was  in  it.  Stanley's  cap  was  not 
easily  carried  away  either ;  it  was  one  of  those  little  blue 
Scotch  ones,  called  in  the  army  "  forage  caps,"  and  in  the 
Highlands  "Glengarries;"  but,  though  a  gale  and  a  half  of 
wind  could  not  budge  it,  it  lowered  its  flag  to  the  shifting 
boom,  and  was  borne  away  into  the  lake  to  become  the 
sport  of  the  billows.  For  little  accidents  like  these,  how- 
ever, Stanley  was  always  quite  prepared ;  he  carried  a 
spare  Glengarry  in  his  bosom,  and  when  one  was  blown  off 
he  calmly  mounted  the  other. 

"  Well,  Sambo,"  replied  Stanley,  "  I  dare  say  I  am  fully 
tall  for  your  beau  ideal  of  a  sailor,  but  then  I'm  only  a 
youngster;  I  haven't  filled  out  yet." 


7S  Stanley   Grahamc. 

"  Yah  !  yah  !  Yes,  dear  Massa  Stanley,  you  is  puffekly 
correct ;  you's  nuffun  more'n  a  piccaninny  yet.  By'me-bye 
you  fill  out  proper,  and  den  you  be  jus'  such  anoder  big 
fellow  as  dis  chile." 

"  Yes,  Sambo,  and  I  really  wonder,  with  your  immense 
height,  you  have  managed  to  sail  round  the  world  without 
meeting  more  accidents  than  you  have  done." 

"  Yes,  sah,  to  you,"  said  Sambo,  seriously,  "  and  I  hab 
often  wonder  so  myself.  Specs  Providence  had  somefin  to 
do  wid  de  matter,  ye  know,  'cause  I'se  been  wonderfully 
preserved.  But  when  I'se  on  board  de  ships  I  always  look 
out  for  my  shins." 

"  Your  head  you  mean,  Sambo,  don't  you  ?" 

"  Yah  !  no,  Massa  Stanley,  my  head  can  look  after  his- 
self,  he  no  take  much  hurt;  but  my  shins,  ah  !  young  sah, 
dey  are  all  de  same's  one  maiden's  heart — very  tender  and 
'mpressionable.  Yah  !  yes." 

Sambo  was  squatting  beside  the  tiller  while  he  spoke, 
with  his  knees  as  high  as  his  chin,  and  Stanley  was  stand- 
ing in  the  cabin  with  his  head  nearly  on  a  level  with  the 
deck  ;  for  you  must  know  that  they  were  out  on  a  cruise. 
The  mulatto  man  was  forward  ready  to  take  in  sail  whenever 
desirable,  and  Captain  Mackinlay  was  lying  on  the  sofa 
enjoying  his  after-dinner  "caulk,"  as  he  called  it. 

They  had  left  Beaumont  Park  the  day  before,  and  Canute 
Creek,  near  the  south-easternmost  end  of  this  mighty 
inland  sea,  on  the  same  forenoon,  after  spending  a  few 
pleasant  and  profitable  hours  fishing.  Their  intention  at 
present  was  to  sail  far  away  north  and  west  to  the  moun- 
tain lands  where  bear  and  wolf  and  bison  were  still  to  be 
found  in  forest  or  plain,  and  where  there  was  accordingly 
reasonable  expectation  of  good  sport.  It  would  be  morn- 
ing or  near  it  before  they  could  reach  their  hunting-ground, 
but  there  was  a  full  moon  and  a  favouring  breeze,  and  the 
yacht  was  strong  and  true. 

Captain  Mackinlay  was  an  old  sailor  of  the  right  school, 


The  "Saucy"  79 

and  he  had  himself  superintended  the  building  of  this  beau- 
tiful little  vessel.  Paint  hid  no  faults  in  her ;  he  had 
examined  every  timber  and  every  knee  and  bolt  about 
her,  and  knew  the  iron  was  good.  So  he  could  sleep 
soundly  enough,  with  never  a  dream  to  disturb  him,  for 
had  not  his  sailing-master  himself  got  hold  of  the  tiller, 
and  his  eyes  aloft  ? 

And  a  pretty  display  of  canvas  that  was  too.  She  had 
a  tall  mainmast  and  a  maintopmast  as  well,  and  right  abaft 
was  a  mizzenmast,  not  a  sham  of  a  thing  with  a  sham  of  a 
sail  on  it,  like  what  you  see  on  a  fishing  yawl,  but  a  good 
spar  with  a  real  topmast  over  it.  Nor  was  the  mizzen 
a  mere  show,  but  good  and  strong — a  "  sonsy  "  mizzen  sail. 
Well,  she  had  at  present  a  foresail  and  jib  set,  and  a  fore- 
jib  and  two  gafif-  topsails.  In  a  word  she  was  under  every 
inch  of  cloth  she  could  display,  and  with  the  wind  on  the 
starboard  quarter  she  kept  her  course  like  a  thing  of  life, 
with  never  a  wrinkle  in  rag  that  was  on  her,  and  the  stars 
and  stripes  at  the  peak  coqueted  with  the  breeze,  as  if  it 
were  the  happiest  flag  that  ever  floated  over  waters  blue. 

You  may  guess  she  looked  a  beauty,  and  her  bows  clove 
through  the  water  like  the  rays  of  the  sunlight,  softly, 
without  an  effort,  with  hardly  a  sound.  About  two  hours 
after  the  sun  was  getting  low  on  the  horizon,  the  sky  was 
blue  all  over  save  in  the  west ;  on  that  horizon  was  a  bank 
of  ugly  clouds,  changing  to  a  sickly  yellow  on  the  margin, 
as  the  sun  approached,  and  seemed  to  make  haste  to  hide 
behind  them. 

The  mulatto  man  was  laying  the  tea-things  in  the  cabin, 
tea  and  buttered  toast.  That  mulatto  man  was  not  gifted 
with  a  great  flow  of  language  ;  terseness  was  his  strong 
point.  Presently  he  nudged  the  sleeping  captain. 

"Fiddles,  sah?" 

"  Eh  ?  eh  ?"  cried  the  captain,  only  half  awake.  "  Fid- 
dles ?  fiddles?  fiddles  ?  What  are  you  fiddling  about  ?" 

"Gwine  to  blow.    Dirty  night,  I  'specsj"  said  the  mulatto. 


8o  Stanley  Grahame 

As  he  spoke  the  Saucy  gave  one  quick  lurch  to  leeward, 
and  cups  and  saucers,  teapot  and  toast,  went  floating  down 
the  table,  and  emptied  themselves,  avalanche-fashion,  on 
Captain  Mackinlay's  stomach  and  legs. 

He  jumped  up  and  shook  himself  clear  of  the  wreck. 

"  Fiddles,  you  ass  !  "  he  cried,  angrily,  "  couldn't  3'ou  see 
for  yourself?  Down  with  the  sticks  and  get  out  more 
delf." 

Then  he  ran  on  deck. 

"  Ah  !  Sambo,  Sambo,"  he  said  ;  "  what  have  you.  beer 
doing  ?  I'm  drenched  in  boiling  tea  from  top  to  toe." 

A  bit  of  a  sea  struck  her  fore  foot  as  he  spoke,  and  the 
thin  edge  of  it  cut  the  captain  like  a  whip-thong  across  the 
mouth. 

"That's  it,  is  it?"  said  the  old  mariner.  "And  the  wind 
going  farther  aft  too.  Well,  Sambo,  get  in  your  jibs  and 
down  topsails." 

There  was  no  fear  of  her  carrying  her  sticks  away  just 
yet,  but  she  was  not  snug  by  any  means.  The  sea  got  up 
momentarily,  and  she  rolled  in  a  way  that  was  anything 
but  pleasant. 

Stanley  was  all  alive  now;  all  motion  and  action.  He 
had  been  what  poets  call  dreaming  just  before  the  captain 
came  on  deck.  Dreaming  of  home  ;  thinking,  not  without 
some  degree  of  sadness,  of  his  mother  and  sister  and  the 
little  homely  cottage  near  the  great  forest,  and  the  wild, 
happy,  free  life  he  had  led  in  dear  old  Scotland.  This  had 
led  him  to  think  of  the  parting  scene,  and  his  adventure  at 
the  eirde  house  on  the  moor. 

"  Dear  me,  how  strange  it  would  be,"  he  had  said,  hal 
aloud,  "  if  ever  I  happened  to  meet  daft  Jean's  son,  and  how 
pleasant  a  task  to  bring  him  home  !" 

"Oh!  yah  !"  Sambo  had  cried,  overhearing  some  of  his 
words.  "Am  de  poor  piccaninny  boy  beginning  to  tink  ob 
home  ?  Yah  !  yah  !  'Cause  de  wind  begin  to  blow,  and 
de  ship  begin  to  swing,  eh  ?  Yah  !  yah  !  yah  !" 


"A  Dirty  Night."  8t 

I  am  not  sure  that  Stanley  might  not  have  offered  some 
verbal  reproof  to  stem  the  flood  of  Sambo's  mirth,  which 
he  did  not  entirely  relish,  had  not  the  captain's  appearance 
on  deck  put  a  stop  to  further  conversation. 

"  Do wn  topsails  !"  But  the  rolling  of  the  little  vessel, 
although  she  behaved  like  a  duck  on  the  great  seas  that 
chased  and  seemed  determined  to  swamp  her,  made  any- 
thing like  comfort  down  below  an  impossibility. 

"Now,  young  sir,"  said  the  captain,  "this  doesn't  half  come 
up  to  my  ideas  of  pleasure.  I  like  tea  and  toast  very  well, 
and  there  is  no  one  in  the  world  can  make  either  better 
than  our  good  cook  there." 

The  mulatto  man  grinned  with  delight. 

"  But,"  continued  Captain  Mackinlay,  "  I  like  peace  to 
enjoy  these  blessings.  So,  ho  I  Away  aloft  with  your  long 
legs,  and  help  Sambo  to  house  the  topmast." 

Stanley  only  waited  three  seconds,  just  long  enough  to 
button  his  coat  and  pull  his  Scotch  cap  over  his  ears,  then 
up  he  went. 

The  captain  laughed  when  the  work  was  finished. 

"  Had  to  hold  on  by  your  teeth,  hadn't  you  ?"  he  said. 
.  But  the  yacht  now  rolled  far  less. 

The  wind  did  not  lull  in  the  least,  however,  and  the  seas 
seemed  to  increase  in  size  with  the  on-coming  of  night  and 
darkness.  There  was  a  moon,  but  it  barely  gave  light 
enough  to  show  the  huge  dusky  sheets  of  vapoury  clouds 
that  went  hurrying  across  the  sky,  impelled  by  the  force  ot 
the  gale. 

"  When  things  are  at  the  worst,"  said  Mackinlay,  "  they 
usually  mend.  Now,  in  a  couple  of  hours  the  storm  will 
be  just  at  its  height;  if  we  keep  this  course  we  give  our- 
selves plenty  of  sea-room,  and  towards  morning  it  will  be 
all  plain  sailing  again.  We'll  run  into  Freeman's  Bay  at 
the  nor' -west  end  of  the  lake  as  gracefully  and  easily  as  a 
swan  would ;  then,  Stanley,  you  will  see  such  scenery  and 
have  such  sport  as  you  never  saw  nor  had  before." 

6 


32  Stanley   Grahame. 

The  worthy  captain  knew  well  what  he  was  talking  about. 
He  was  perfectly  acquainted  not  onl}r  with  the  fierceness  of 
the  storms  that  so  often  swept  over  those  inland  oceans, 
but  with  their  brevity  as  well,  and  he  knew  also  that  so 
long  as  he  had  plenty  of  sea-room  he  was  safe.  But  that 
he  was  somewhat  uneasy  was  evident  from  the  frequency 
with  which  he  went  on  deck  and  glanced  from  compass  to 
sky,  then  around  him  at  the  bleak  dark  night  and  raging 
waters.  This  same  uneasy  feeling  communicated  itself  to 
Stanley ;  young  though  he  was,  he  knew  there  was  danger. 
He  fell  asleep  on  the  locker,  and  an  uneasy  dreamful 
slumber  it  was.  It  must  have  been  long  past  midnight 
when  he  awoke.  The  lamp  was  burning  dimly,  and  Cap- 
tain Mackinlay  was  asleep.  There  was  nothing  to  be  heard 
but  the  roar  of  the  breaking  seas,  and  the  whistling  arid 
shrieking  of  the  wind  in  the  rigging.  He  crept  up  and 
found  faithful  Sambo  at  the  helm. 

The  yacht  was  flying  along,  and  it  was  evidently  all 
Sambo  could  do  to  manage  her. 

"  May  I  speak  to  the  man  at  the  wheel  ?''  cried  Stanley 
in  his  ears. 

Sambo's  eyes  were  aloft,  and  there  was  the  glimmer  of 
the  binnacle  light  on  his  hardy  sable  face  as  he  nodded 
assent. 

"  We're  in  danger  of  some  kind,  aren't  we?" 
Sambo  nodded  again. 

"  That  is  all  I  want  to  know,"  said  Stanley. 
He  lightly  touched  the  back  of  the  man's  hand.     It  was 
cold  as  stone  and  wet ;  he  noticed  also  that  the  poor  fellow's 
teeth  chattered. 

That  was  enough  for  kind-hearted  Stanley.  Sambo  was 
only  a  black  man,  but — 

Stanley  went  below,  and  opening  the  locker,  produced 
the  spirit-stove  and  kettle,  which  he  carefully  steadied 
among  the  fiddles  on  the  table,  then  he  lit  the  stove,  and 
sat  down  TO  watch  it. 


.  Aground  !  83 

Just  ten  minutes  after  he  was  on  deck  again  with  a  great 
mug  of  steaming  coffee. 

It  was  only  a  very  trifling  act  of  kindness,  but  it  was 
one  that  Sambo  never  forgot. 

Stanley  did  not  go  to  sleep  again ;  he  preferred  reading 
by  the  cabin  lamp,  and  so  interested  was  he  that  he  did  not 
perceive  from  the  yacht's  motion  that  both  sea  and  wind 
had  gone  down.  He  threw  down  the  volume  at  last,  and 
stretched  himself  with  a  feeling  of  relief;  the  danger,  he 
thought,  must  be  over,  and  morning  would  soon  break. 

Listen  !  What  is  that  strange  noise —  that  rasping, 
scraping  sound  under  foot  ?  Instinct  seems  to  tell  him  the 
yacht  is  aground,  and  as  she  heels  over  and  ships  a  sea 
there  is  a  crashing  of  timber  and  a  shout  from  Sambo ; 
both  masts  have  gone  by  the  board  and  the  helmsman  is 
entangled  in  the  wreck  of  the  mizzen.  Next  moment 
Stanley  finds  himself,  axe  in  hand,  cutting  away  at  the 
stays,  in  obedience  to  the  orders  of  the  captain. 

There  are  times  in  the  life  of  a  sailor  when  the  hardest 
work  seems  not  only  easy  but  positive  enjoyment.  This 
was  one  of  them  with  Stanley,  and  every  rope  and  stay 
was  cleared,  and  Sambo  erect,  ere  he  stood  up  and  looked 
around  him.  Once  free  from  the  wreckage  the  yacht  not 
only  assumed  an  even  keel  but  floated  again,  and  was 
drifted  farther  on  the  shore,  where  she  once  more  took  the 
ground  to  the  leeward  of  a  rock  that  broke  the  force  of  the 
wind  and  sea.  And  there  was  the  ruddy  glare  of  a  camp 
fire  in  the  forest  above  them,  shining  redly  over  the  water. 
This  fire  had  sprung  up  suddenly  ahead  of  the  vessel,  and 
in  keeping  away  to  avoid  one  shore  Sambo  had  run  her  on 
another.  The  yacht  had  made  a  far  quicker  run  during 
the  night  than  any  one  on  board  could  have  believed 
possible. 

There  were  dusky  figures  around  the  fire  hurrying  to 
and  fro,  and  it  was  soon  apparent  that  the  presence  of  the 
yacht  was  discovered,  for  close  to  the  beach  another  and 


84  Stanley  Grahame. 

bigger  fire  was  lighted,  which  soon  eclipsed  the  other  with 
its  smoke  and  glare. 

It  was  strange,  however,  that  the  figures  that  stood  or 
moved  by  the  second  fire  had  all  the  appearance  of  harmless 
unarmed  Indians. 

"  I  feel  sure  the  others,"  said  Captain  Mackinlay,  "  were 
men  on  the  war-path.  But  daylight  will  soon  enable  us  to 
get  at  the  truth." 

And  day  did  break  at  last,  hazy,  cold,  and  grey ;  but  for 
the  present  the  mystery  of  the  armed  men  remained  a 
mystery,  for  the  people  on  the  beach  could  not  have  looked 
more  peaceable  than  they  did.  By-and-bye  some  of  them 
came  off  in  their  canoes,  bringing  fish,  and  inviting  Captain 
Mackinlay  and  his  party  on  shore. 

"What  do  you  think  of  it,  Sambo? "asked  the  captain, 
with  a  quiet  smile. 

"  I  tink,  massa,"  was  the  reply,  "  as  you  tink,  though 
you  not  speak  it.  Dey  are  one  bad  tribe.  If  they  get  u& 
on  shore,  den  dey  scupper  us  all  plenty  quick." 

The  captain  determined  not  to  land,  and  the  whole  day 
was  spent  in  rigging  a  jurymast  and  staying  it,  in  the  hope 
that  with  a  shift  of  wind  the  yacht  might  be  got  off. 

Watches  were  kept  as  soon  as  night  fell,  Sambo  and  the 
mulatto  remaining  on  duty  till  twelve  o'clock,  then  Stanley 
and  the  captain  taking  their  turn  till  morning.  Stanley 
Grahame  was  stationed  in  the  bow,  and  more  than  once  in 
the  uncertain  light  of  the  moon  he  thought  he  could  perceive 
canoes  laden  with  dusky  warriors  coming  towards  the 
yacht.  Next  day  passed  by  without  even  the  sight  of  an 
Indian,  and  this  only  made  matters  all  the  more  suspicious. 

"They  will  attack  us  to-night,"  said  Captain  Mackinlay. 
"  I  know  their  tricks  and  their  manners  well.  Stanley, 
dear  boy,  I  fear  there  won't  be  any  hunting  this  trip." 

In  the  afternoon  a  breeze  blew  off  shore,  but  the  yacht 
moved  not,  with  all  exertions  that  could  be  made.  It  was  a 
question,  too,  if  she  would  float  even  if  they  succeeded  in 


Attacked  by  Indians.  85 

getting  her  into  deep  water;  for  as  she  bumped  a  good 
deal  against  the  ground  bits  of  timber  came  floating  to 
the  surface,  that  told  only  too  plainly  what  was  going 
on  underneath. 

No  one  thought  of  sleeping  this  night.  There  were  plenty 
of  arms  in  the  yacht,  and  everything  was  got  ready  in  case 
the  Indians  returned. 

With  the  change  of  wind  the  sky  had  cleared,  and  at 
nine  o'clock  up  rose  the  moon  and  flooded  all  the  glorious 
scenery  with  its  light.  So  quiet  looked  the  woods  now,  so 
placid  and  still  the  water,  that  it  seemed  hard  to  believe 
that  a  hostile  foe  was  lurking  not  far  off  preparing  for  pil- 
lage and  murder.  Ort  board  the  wrecked  yacht  never  a 
light  was  shown,  and  on  the  shore  there  was  no  sign  of 
life.  Two,  three,  four  hours  went  slowly  past,  and  Stanley 
was  beginning  to  think  the  night  would  pass  in  peace, 
when  suddenly  a  dark  objecr  became  visible  on  the  water 
coming  from  the  wooded  point  to  the  north,  and  silently 
but  swiftly  approaching  them. 

"  Here  they  come,"  the  captain  cried.  "  Be  ready, 
Stanley;  be  ready,  men,  to  do  as  I  tell  you." 

Then  he  hailed  the  advancing  boat,  an  immensely  large 
canoe,  in  which  the  stalwart  forms  of  over  a  dozen  painted 
warriors  were  now  dislinctly  visible. 

The  reply  was  a  well-directed  volley,  and  a  wild  yell  of 
deiiance,  and  both  volley  and  yell  were  reverberated  from 
afar,  and  must  have  startled  the  denizens  of  those  wild 
woods.  The  volley  had  only  one  effect,  and  that  a  good 
one — it  put  these  brave  yachtsmen  on  their  mettle. 

"Don't  fire  yet,"  cried  the  captain.  Then  a  minute  or 
two  after,  "  Now  then,  now  together,"  be  shouted. 

Perhaps  the  Indians  had  not  expected  so  warm  a  recep- 
tion, and  had  counted  on  an  easy  victory.     But  in  no  way 
daunted,  on  they  came  with  redoubled  shouts.     There  was 
no  time  to  fire  again  from  the  rifles,  but  revolvers  were  at. . 
hand,  and  with  these  good  execution  was  done.     But  the 


86  Stanley  Grahame. 

fiercest  part  of  the  fight  took  place  when,  the  canoe  along- 
side, the  savages  were  repelled  with  pike,  cutlass,  and 
clubbed  rifle.  Sambo  fought  like  a  lion,  if  it  is  not  invidious 
to  say  so  where  all  did  so  well. 

The  struggle  was  virtually  over  in  but  little  more  time 
than  it  takes  to  tell  it,  and  the  canoe  was  rapidly  making 
for  the  shore  again.  But  it  can  hardly  be  doubted  that 
they  suffered  severely. 

"Just  ten  minutes  to  rest,"  said  Mnckinlay,  "and  then  to 
get  our  boat  provisioned  and  lowered.  These  fellows  will 
return  in  more  canoes  than  one,  and  next  time  we  may  not 
come  off  victoriouslv." 


The  work  was  gone  about  in  a  business-like  fashion,  but 
as  quietly  as  possible. 

"  Let  us  be  thankful  for  the  friendly  wind,  Stanley,"  said 
the  captain,  as  he  took  his  place  in  the  boat.  "  Step  the 
mast  and  up  with  the  sheet.  Did  you  arrange  everything 
nicely  below,  Sambo  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  yes,  sah,"  cried  Sambo,  "  tar  and  tow,  sah,  and 
petroleum ;  presently  you  see  de  smoke  and  de  blaze  ob 
our  poor  leetle  ship." 

It  needed  a  stroke  or  two  of  the  oars  to  get  the  boat  past 
the  point,  but  soon  she  felt  the  force  of  the  breeze,  and  the 
oars  were  no  longer  required. 


Stanley  Shot.  87 

Are  they  to  be  allowed  to  depart  thus  peacefully?  Nay, 
for  they  are  already  perceived,  and  not  one  canoe  but  a 
dozen  at  least  start  in  pursuit.  They  start  in  a  line  parallel 
to  the  shore,  but  soon  one  or  two  better  manned  outstrip 
the  others,  and  seem  to  come  up  hand  over  hand. 

The  mulatto  took  the  tiller,  keeping  the  sail  well  filled, 
and  the  others  commenced  a  running  fire  on  the  foremost 
of  their  pursuers,  and  the  fire  was  well  returned. 

"  Courage,  Stanley,"  said  the  captain,  "  we  are  safe  as 
yet;  a  stern  chase  is  a  long  chase,  and  their  arms  will  tire, 
but  the  wind  won't,  unless  indeed  they  cripple  our  sail. 
But  look,  look  :  see  how  the  flames  begin  to  mount  around 
our  poor  lost  yacht,  and  the  enemy  are  already  wavering 
and  slackening  their  fire." 

It  was  true.  Revenge  is  sweet  to  the  American  Indian ; 
but  the  hope  of  plunder  is  a  feeling  that  overcomes  even 
revenge. 

One  last  yell  of  anger  and  disappointment,  one  last  hur- 
ried voile}',  and  the  chase  was  over;  but  at  the  same 
moment  Stanley  Grahame  started  and  fell  backwards  in  the 
boat,  with  a  pale  face  turned  skywards,  and  the  kindly 
hands  that  hastened  to  help  him  \vcrc  stained  in  warm 
blood. 


vm. 

LIFE  AT  BEAUMONT  PARK—FARTING. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

LIFE   AT    BEAUMONT    PARK — PARTING. 

A  DARKNESS,  almost  akin  to  that  of  death,  eclipsed 
for  a  time  the  young  life  of  Stanley  Grahame,  from 
the  moment  he  was  shot  down  in  the  boat  by  that  cruel 
Indian  bullet.  He  felt  no  pain  as  he  fell,  indeed  how  could 
he  ?  He  heard  not  even  the  frantic  lamentations  of  honest 
Sambo,  nor  the  quiet,  stern,  but  mournful  tones  of  Captain 
Mackinlay's  voice,  as  he  gave  directions  for  the  staunching 
of  the  blood  and  temporary  bandaging  of  that  terrible 
wound.  He  knew  nothing  of  the  journey  home  to  Beaumont 
Park,  nothing  of  the  lying  in  bed,  nothing  of  the  visit  of  the 
surgeon,  who  came  from  a  far-off  town  to  see  him  and 
pronounce  upon  the  case. 

No  pain;  not  even  when  he  opened  his  eyes,  after  weeks 
of  burning  fever  for  himself,  and  heartfelt  anxiety  for  his 
friends  around  him,  only  a  confused  consciousness  of  weary 
racking  dreams,  of  toilsome  wanderings  over  lonely  moor- 
lands, by  rocks  and  by  waters,  on  mountain  and  in  forest. 
He  was  only  half  aware  that  these  were  dreams ;  he  was 
not  sure  that  there  was  not  a  mingling  of  the  real  with  the 
imaginary  ;  but  the  moorlands  had  been  very  long,  and  the 
rocks  oftentimes  fearful  precipices,  over  which  he  had  fallen 
headlong  into  abysses  of  insensibility,  and  the  waters  had 
been  deep  and  dark,  while  in  the  woods  and  forest  he  had 
contended  and  fought  with  creatures  of  strange  shapes,  that 
had  tried  to  prevent  him  from  going  he  knew  not  whither 
or  doing  he  knew  not  what. 


92  Stanley  Grahame. 

But  where  was  he  now  ?    In  bed,  that  was  all  he  could  tell. 

He  gently  breathed  his  sister's  name,  "  Ailie,  Ailie."  A 
soft  footstep  was  heard,  the  curtain  was  drawn  aside,  and 
a  slender  girlish  figure  stood  beside  his  pillow. 

"  Ailie ! " 

It  surely  was  Ailie.  And  yet  those  dark  eyes  and  those 
raven  tresses  were  not  his  sister's,  though  something  in 
her  looks  was  the  same. 

He  essayed  to  talk,  but  she  held  up  a  warning  finger 
and  shook  her  head.  Then  she  was  gone,  but  back  again 


•;•! 


in  a  moment,  holding  something  to  his  lips,  which  he  knexv 
he  must  swallow.  Then  his  eyes,  weary,  hot,  and  half  shut, 
rested  on  the  face  of  his  little  nurse. 

"  Oh  !  "  he  thought,  "  it  is  Ailie.  Must  be  Ailie.  How 
could  I  have  been  deceived  !  " 

Yes,  to  all  intents  and  purposes,  she  was  Ailie  to  him 
now,  for  he  was  fast  asleep  again.  But  no  more  racking, 
worrying  dreams,  no  more  toilsome  wanderings.  He  was 
back  once  more  in  the  great  forest,  high  up  again  in 
leaf-land,  and  Ailie  •was  seated  on  a  bough  by  his  side,  the 


Out  of  Danger.  93 

myriad  leaves  were  gently  sighing  in  the  summer  wind  that 
fanned  his  brow,  and  the  bees  made  drowsy  music  above, 
beneath,  and  around  him. 

Anon  the  scene  was  changed.  He  was  seated  in  the 
strange  eirde  house  on  the  moor,  and  near  him  "  daft " 
Jean.  She  was  telling  him  again  the  story  of  her  long-lost 
son,  and  earnestly  pleading  with  him  to  bring  him  back  to 
her — to  bring  him  back  to  life. 

Bring  him  back  to  life  ?  Why,  the  words  were  not  daft 
Jean's  at  all,  but  those  of  a  gentleman  who  sat  in  the  room 
not  far  from  his  bed  ;  a  cheery-faced  little  gentleman  with 
steel-grey  hair  and  apparently  steel-grey  eyes,  so  brightly 
did  they  sparkle.  He  was  nursing  his  hat  and  nursing  his 
gold-headed  cane,  and  talking  earnestly  to  the  demure  little 
maiden  whom  Stanley  had  mistaken  for  Ailie,  and  who,  by 
some  means  or  other  yet  unexplained  to  him,  had  been 
constituted  his  nurse. 

"  No,"  he  was  saying,  "  all  danger  is  now  past ;  skin  cool 
and  fever  gone.  I  needn't  come  again  for  a  whole  week, 
for,  as  I  said  before,  it  needs  but  my  medicine,  regularly 
given,  Sambo's  attention,  and  your  gentle  care  to  bring  him 
back  to  life.  You  are  my  little  lieutenant,  don't  you  see  ? 
and  I'm  so  sure  that  you'll  obey  orders,  and  carry  out  my 
instructions  to  the  very  letter,  that  I'm  going  to  leave  the 
case  in  your  hands  for  that  time.  And  then — but  see,  our 
patient  is  awake,  and  has  been  listening,  perhaps,  ever  so 
long  to  all  we've  been  saying." 

Stanley  smiled. 

The  doctor  approached  the  bed  and  laid  his  fingers  on  his 
wrist.  "  Bless  the  boy  !  "  he  said  ;  "  he'll  be  all  right  soon. 
But  it  was  a  narrow  shave  he  had  of  it — within  half  an  inch 
of  the  heart.  Yes,  he'll  be  running  about  again  in  a  couple 
of  months.  That  smile  tells  me  so.  Heigho  !  If  I  could  get 
all  my  patients  to  smile  like  that  I'd  soon  be  the  richest 
man  betwixt  here  and  Boston.  Good  morning.  You'll  do. 
I  guess  I  won't  come  again  for  a  whole  week." 


94  Stanley  Grahame. 

Stanley's  life  for  the  next  three  or  four  days  seemed  to 
consist  of  a  series  of  long,  refreshing  sleeps,  his  waking 
moments  being  but  short,  and  occupied  principally  by  taking 
nourishment  and  holding  his  tongue. 

But  though  forbidden  to  talk,  there  was  no  provision 
made  to  prevent  him  from  thinking  or  wondering,  and 
he  did  a  good  deal  of  that.  He  .wondered,  among  other 
things,  where  his  gentle  and  attentive  little  nurse  had 
dropped  from,  why  she  was  dressed  in  black,  and  what  that 
something  in  her  looks  and  manner  was  which  caused  his 
thoughts  always  to  revert  to  his  sister  Ailie. 

"  You  are  to  be  allowed  to  talk  a  little  this  morning,"  she 
said,  on  the  fifth  day  after  the  doctor's  last  visit. 

"  I'm  so  pleased  !  "  he  said. 

"  And  to  sit  up  a  little  in  bed  Only  for  twenty  minutes,' 
she  continued,  consulting  a  dainty  wee  gold  watch,  no  bigger 
than  a  florin  ;  "  twenty  minutes— doctor's  orders." 

Then  the  curtain  was  drawn  back,  and  Sambo  himself, 
who  had  been  hidden  from  Stanley's  view  till  now,  came 
forward  and  raised  him  gently  on  his  pillows. 

Sambo  was  smiling  from  end  to  end  of  his  mouth— or 
from  ear  to  ear,  as  one  might  say.  He  sponged  his  patient's 
face  and  hands,  then  put  away  the  things,  and,  returning 
to  the  bedside,  relieved  his  feelings  by  getting  rid  of  a  big 
sigh.  Then,  "  Oh,  I  is  so  glad  ! "  said  Sambo — "  I  is  so 
puffukly  happy,  that  byme-bye  I  shall  go  out  into  de 
woods,  where  nubbudy  can  hear  me  but  de  'possums,  and 
laugh ! " 

Stanley  pressed  his  hand. 

"  I'm  sure,  good  Sambo,"  he  said,  "  I  shall  soon  be  all 
right  again  now,  and  then  we  will  go  down  into  the  woods 
together  and — and  laugh." 

"Oh  !  yes,  sah,"  said  Sambo,  "and  do  all  kinds  o'  fine 
doin's  when  you  is  fit.  We'll  hunt  de  'possum  and  catch  de 
'coon,  and — But,  la !  young  sah,"  here  Sambo's  face  got  as 
long  as  a  bootjack,  "  w'en  de  skunks  of  Injuns  make  de 


s  Devotion.  95 

bobbery  and  shoot  you  down,  I  tink  den  you  am  murdered 
for  sartain. 

"  I  tink  you  plenty — too — much — quickly  die.  Den  you 
lie  on  my  knee,  and  you  bleed  and  bleed  'spite  ob  all 
massa  and  I  can  do  ;  and  all  de  while  you  look  so  white,  all 
de  same  one  bladder  ob  lard." 

"  Did  I,  though  ?  "  said  Stanley.  "  You  describe  things 
very  graphically,  Sambo." 

"  P'r'aps,"  replied  Sambo,  "  I  not  speak  so  geographically 
as  I  wish,  but  den,  sah,  I  speak  de  troof.  Wen  Sambo  see 
you  lie  all  same's  one  dead  pigeon,  den  he  want  to  die 
hisself.  His  heart  come  up  out  ob  his  place  and  stick  in 
his  throat,  can't  swallow  'im  down  again  nohow." 

All  at  once  Sambo's  face  lost  the  boot-jack  shape ;  it 
broadened  and  rounded  up  again,  and  his  eyes  sparkled 
with  delight. 

"  But  T  say,  sah,"  he  cried. 

"  Yes,"  said  Stanley. 

"  What  you  tink?"  asked  Sambo,  all  a-grin. 

"  I  couldn't  say." 

"No,  you  nebber,  nebber  could  guess.  But,  sure  I  got 
de  gemlam  safe  and  sound  dat  nearly  murder  you." 

"What !  "  cried  Stanley,  "  you  caught  the " 

"Yes — ess,  sah,"  cried  Sambo,  laughing  delightedly, 
"sure  enuff  I  catchee  he  for  true.  I  put  he  in  one  box  for 
safe.  '  Now,  gemlam,'  I  say,  '  out  ob  dat  box  you  not  can 
come  until  young  Massa  Stanley  is  better,  and  if  poor  young 
massa  die,  den  out  ob  dat  box  you  nebber  come.'  I  go 
fetchee  he,  sah,  plenty  quick." 

Stanley  waited  with  a  good  deal  of  anxiety,  expecting 
that  Sambo  would  presently  return,  accompanied  by  an 
Indian  prisoner  of  the  warlike  and  nomad  tribe  of 
Apaches. 

But  Sambo  returned  alone,  and  in  his  hand  a  pill-box, 
from  which  he  pulled  out  a  much-indented  rifle-bullet,  and 
handed  it  to  Stanley. 


96  Sfanley  Grahame. 

"You  are  a  funny  fellow,  Sambo,"  said  the  boy,  much 
amused.  Then  he  took  the  bullet  and  examined  it,  with 
the  same  kind  of  interest  that  one  would  look  at  one's  own 
tooth,  extracted  by  some  cruelly-kind  dentist. 

The  same  afternoon  Stanley  was  permitted  to  sit  up  and 
talk  a  little  more.  The  French  window  of  the  room  where 
he  lay  opened  on  to  a  beautiful  verandah,  whence  he  could 
see  away,  over  miles  on  miles  of  meadow-land  and  woods, 
to  where  the  view  was  bounded  by  the  far-off  hills.  It  was 
the  Indian  summer,  the  trees  were  arrayed  in  the  tints  of 
autumn,  and  the  fresh  air  felt  to  Stanley  redolent  of  return- 
ing health  and  happiness. 

Presently  in  through  this  window,  accompanied  by 
a  beautiful  setter,  came  Captain  Mackinlay,  booted  and 
spurred,  as  he  had  leapt  off  his  horse.  With  his  bright, 
rosy,  beaming  face,  his  sturdy  form  and  hair  of  grey,  he 
looked  the  very  genius  of  the  lovely  landscape  on  which 
Stanley  had  been  gazing. 

He  did  not  say  much,  but  sat  down  by  the  bedside,  and 
took  the  boy's  wasted  hand  in  his. 

"  It  makes  me  feel  better  only  to  look  at  you,"  said 
Stanley,  smiling. 

"Well,  then,  my  boy,"  replied  Mackinlay,  "you'll  get 
better  every  day,  for  I'll  come  in  every  day  after  my  ride, 
and  if  I  can't  do  anything  else  I'll  sit  and  let  you  look  at 
me." 

"  Everybody  is  so  kind  to  me,"  said  Stanley  a  week  later 
on,  "that  really  getting  well  is  a  pleasure.  I  don't  think 
I  would  mind  being  shot  again  at  the  same  price." 

When  he  was  able  to  be  up  and  dressed  Sambo  was 
indeed  delighted. 

"  I'se  de  happiest  nigger,"  he  told  his  patient,  "  on  de 
whole  plantation." 

Then  reclining  on  the  sofa,  which  was  wheeled  near  the 
open  window  that  he  might  inhale  the  life-giving  air,  Stanley 
used  to  listen  entranced  to  the  poems  and  tales  read  to  him 


Ida.  97 

by  Ida,  his  child-nurse.  He  had  never  thought  the  wild 
lays  of  Scott,  or  the  poems  of  Coleridge  and  Campbell,  half 
so  delightful  before,  much  though  he  used  to  love  and  enjoy 
them,  for  now  to  his  ear  they  seemed  set  to  music. 

It  was  weeks  before  Stanley  knew  anything  more  of  the 
girl  his  medical  attendant  had  placed  such  faith  in  than  her 
name — Ida  Ross.  He  knew,  from  the  dress  she  wore,  she 
was  in  grief  of  some  kind.  What  that  grief  was  he  would 
not  for  the  world  have  been  rude  enough  to  ask,  but  his 
uncle,  in  her  absence,  said  one  evening,  in  his  blunt, 
straightforward  manner, — 

"  You  are  wondering,  my  boy,  who  little  Ida  is,  aren't 
you  ?  " 

"  I  have  been,  sir,"  said  Stanley. 

"  Poor  little  dear  !  "  the  captain  said  ;  "  she  has  recently 
lost  her  mother,  while  her  father,  Captain  RDSS,  an  old  and 
dear  friend  of  mine,  is  at  sea,  so  Ida  has  no  one  but  myself 
at  present  to  protect  her." 

Stanley  could  not  help  feeling  even  more  tenderly  towards 
her  now.  It  seemed  so  good  and  kind  of  her  to  interest 
herself  in  his  welfare  while  her  heart  was  breaking  with 
her  own  grief. 

So  the  time  wore  on.  The  balmy  Indian  summer  gave 
place  to  winter.  Snow  fell,  making  the  great  cotton-trees 
and  the  cypress-groves  a  sight  to  see.  Stanley  was  not 
permitted  to  take  outdoor  exercise  yet,  so  he  still  was 
Sambo's  patient  and  Ida's. 

He  took  her  hand  one  day  in  his. 

"Ida,"  he  said,  "you  have  been  very,  very  good  to 
me." 

"  Have  I  ?  "  she  said,  innocently  ;  "  but  not  more  so  than 
I  ought  to  have  been.  Oh  !  no,  not  a  bit  more." 

"  Ida,  I  have  written  to  Ailie  and  to  my  mother,  and  told 
them  all  about  you  and  your  goodness  to  me,  and  Ailie  saj's 
you  must  be  a  sister  to  me,  quite  a  sister,  and  mother  says 
she  loves  you,  and  will  pray  that  some  day  she  may  meet 

7 


9  8  Stanley  Grahame. 

you  and  thank  you.  Ida,  will  you  be  a  sister  to  me,  and 
may  I  call  you  so  ?  " 

"  Oh !  yes,"  said  Ida ;  "  I  will  like  it  very  much, 
Stanley." 

"  Ailie  always  calls  me  '  Stan/  "  said  the  boy. 

"  Well,  then,  I  will  always  call  you  Stan." 

"  Read  to  me,  Sis." 

"  What  shall  I  read,  Stan  ?  " 

"  'The  Rhyme  of  the  Ancient  Mariner.' " 

"  But  is  it  not  terrible  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  but  the  last  verses,  as  you  read  them.  Ida,  are 
like  a  prayer.  They  make  me  feel  better." 

In  a  low,  sweet  voice,  that  lacked  not  solemnity,  Ida  read 
that  weird  poem,  and  at  some  stanzas,  with  a  little  shudder 
she  crept  closer  to  her  "  brother's  "  shoulder. 

The  surgeon  who  treated  Stanley's  wound  had  not  done 
wrong  in  making  this  strange  girl  his  nurse.  She  was  one 
of  a  type  that  you  seldom  or  never  meet  out  of  America, 
who  combine  the  wisdom  of  the  woman  with  the  innocence 
and  tenderness  of  the  child. 

There  was  in  the  room  where  Ida,  the  captain,  and 
Stanley  used  to  spend  the  evening,  a  small  harpsichord. 
Ida  often  seated  herself  by  this,  and  played  and  sang  the 
simple  but  affecting  melodies  so  common  during  the  last 
fearful  civil  war.  This  was  the  sweetest  music,  to  Stanley's 
thinking,  he  had  ever  heard,  and  he  wondered  how  his 
uncle  could  go  to  sleep. 

Spring  comes  all  at  once,  almost,  in  the  country  where 
Captain  Mackinlay  had  his  home.  In  one  short  week  the 
fields  are  carpeted  with  green  and  studded  with  wild 
flowers,  butterflies  flit  in  the  sunshine,  birds  sing  gaily  in 
the  woodlands,  and  there  is  life  and  love  and  beauty  every- 
where. 

From  the  time  he  regained  consciousness  up  till  now, 
when  he  regained  strength,  Stanley  Grahame's  life  had 
been  quite  an  idyllic  one ;  too  much  so,  perhaps,  for  a 


News.  99 

dreamy  life  of  ease  is  not  suited  for  manly  youth.  And  to 
tell  the  truth,  now  that  he  could  go  out  of  doors,  and 
ramble  about  in  the  woods,  and  row  or  fish  in  the  river, 
the  boy  was  somewhat  ashamed  of  himself  for  having  given 
way  to  the  pleasure  of  such  a  dreamy  existence  as  he  had 
led  all  the  autumn  and  winter  through.  He  did  not  now 
ask  Ida  so  often  to  read  or  sing  to  him.  This  was,  perhaps, 
somewhat  ungrateful.  To  do  Stanley  justice,  he  knew  and 
felt  it  was,  and,  to  make  up  for  it  in  some  measure,  he  used 
in  the  evenings  to  recount  to  her  all  his  adventures  in  the 
woods  or  by  the  river,  show  her  his  fishing  tackle,  descant 
ing  on  the  merits  of  various  flics,  which  he  even  taught 
her  to  make  from  the  feathers  of  birds  he  procured. 

Sometimes  she  used  to  accompany  him  in  his  rambles, 
but  not  very  often.  I  fear  he  preferred  Sambo. 

"  Oh,  Sissie,"  he  cried,  as  she  came  joyfully  to  meet  him 
one  evening  in  the  hall,  "  what  a  day  Sambo  and  I  have 
had  !  Such  sport !  Such  fun  !  You  can't  conceive  how 
much  we  have  enjoyed  ourselves." 

As  he  spoke  she  had  her  two  hands  on  his  shoulder,  and 
was  eagerly  watching  his  animated  face. 

"  How  I  wish,"  he  continued,  looking  down  at  her,  "  you 
had  been  a  boy  !  girls  really  are  so  little  use,  you  know." 

Tears  rushed  into  the  poor  child's  eyes,  then  her  arms 
drooped  nervelessly  by  her  side,  and  next  moment  he  was 
alone. 

Stanley  would  have  given  all  he  possessed  in  the  world, 
and  a  deal  more  if  he  had  had  it,  to  have  been  able  to  recall 
those  words.     Alas  !  it  was  too  late.     "  A  word  spoken — 
You  know  the  proverb,  reader. 

"  Stanley  boy,  Stanley,"  cried  his  uncle  from  the  sitting- 
room  ;  "come  along  in,  lad,  I've  news  for  you  that  will 
make  you  jump  for  joy." 

At  any  other  time,  perhaps,  what  his  .uncle  told  Stanley 
might  have  made  him  jump  for  joy;  at  present  it  had  not 
half  the  pleasant  effect  it  ought  to  have  had. 


ioo  Stanley   Gra/iame. 

"  Sit  down  and  listen.  Now,  you  see  I  have  been 
thinking  about  you  for  months  and  months,  and  planning 
how  best  I  could  serve  you.  Truth  is,  Stanley,  I  want  to 
make  a  man  of  you,  because  the  fact  is  there  are  the 
makings  of  a  man  about  you.  Well  then,  you  want  to  be 
a  sailor,  and  I've  got  you  a  ship.  You  see  you  are  far  too 
old  to  enter  the  fighting  navy,  and  I'm  not  sorry,  for  in 
these  days  of  floating  rams — box-heaters  I  call  them — 
seamanship  is  quite  unknown,  even  in  the  Royal  Navy  of 
England.  But  the  merchant  service  is  the  place  for  you. 
Well,  lad,  I  could  have  got  you  apprenticed  to  one  of  the 
finest  liners  afloat,  where  you  would  have  been  treated  like 
a  young  gentleman,  and  fed  like  a  lady,  and  seldom  required 
to  soil  your  fine  fingers.  But  would  that  make  a  man  of  you, 
think  you  ?  No,  nor  a  sailor  either.  I  want  you  to  rough  it 
a  bit,  just  as  I  roughed  it  in  my  young  days,  and  as  every 
good  man  and  true  that  now  sails  as  master  mariner  has 
roughed  it.  Are  you  afraid  to  rough  it,  lad  ?  Say  so  if  you 
are,  and  I'll  send  you  home  again  to  your  mammie." 

"  I'm  not  afraid  of  anything  that's  right,"  replied  Stanley, 
boldly  but  respectfully. 

"  Well  spoken,  lad.  I  knew  what  you'd  say,  but  I  wanted 
to  hear  you  say  it.  Now  this  is  a  letter  from  Skipper 
Allardyce,  of  the  good  barque  Trincotnalcc.  It  was  brought 
by  a  messenger  not  an  hour,ago.  Allardyce  is  down  at 
Forestville  to-night ;  he  is  off  again  tomorrow  for  New 
York ;  we  must  see  him  at  once  and  arrange  matters,  and 
we  have  just  an  hour  to  catch  the  down  steamer.  Are  you 
ready  ?  Can  you  do  it  ?  " 

"Of  course,"  said  Stanley;  but — 

"So  sudden, 'isn't  it,  eh?  Take  the  word  of  an  old 
tailor,  boy — every  event  in  this  world  worth  calling  an 
event  happens  without  warning.  A  man  should  be  always 
in  marching  order,  and  always  ready  to  do  his  duty,  even  if 
that  duty  be  to  die.  Get  out  your  knapsack.  1 1  rave  round, 
there  isn't  a  minute  to  spare.  We'll  dine  in  the  boat/' 


Parting.  IOI 

"  I'se  got  de  habbcrsack,"  cried  Sambo,  "  and  ebberting 
you  want,  sah.  Horse  ready  all  same  too,  sah  !  We  got 
to  ride  good  ways  down  de  ribber  dis  time  to  catch  dc  boat. 
Suppose  you  no  plenty  quick,  sah,  'ssure  you  for  true  you 
no  catchee  he." 

"  I  won't  be  a  moment,  Sambo." 

Stanley  hurried  away  as  he  spoke. 

No  need  to  say  he  was  looking  for  Ida  to  say  good-bye, 
and  to  ask  forgiveness  for  the  cruel,  ungrateful  words  he 
had  inadvertently  spoken. 

But  where  was  she  ?  Not  in  an}'  room  below.  He  was 
hurrying  across  one  of  the  corridors  when  he  met  her  maid 
coming  on  tiptoe  down  the  broad  staircase. 

"  Hush  ! "  she  said,  raising  her  finger.  "  Your  boots 
make  too  much  bobbery.  Poor  missie  sleep.  She  been 
cry.  She  not  well.  Hush  !  " 

"  Stanley  !  Stanley  !  "  cried  his  uncle. 

Only  a  few  hurried  wcsrds,  incoherently  spoken  to  Ida's  • 
maid.     Words  that  she  hardly  knew  the  meaning  of— words 
she  would  scarcely  remember — and  Stanley  was  off. 

How  beautiful  the  woods  looked  in  the  sunset ;  how 
quiet  and  still  they  were ! 

"And  nought  within  the  grove  was  heard  or  scon 

]jiit  stockdoves  plaining  through  its  gloom  profound, 
Or  winglet  of  the  fairy  humming-bird, 

Like  -toms  of  the  rainbow  fluttering  round." 

Stanley  had  never  seemed  to  love  them  half  so  much  as 
he  loved  them  now.  But  why  this  sadness  on  his  heart  ?  He 
would  be  back  again  to-morrow  or  the  day  after,  and  tell  Ida 
how  much  he  had  suffered  and  sorrowed  for  what  he  had  said. 
Then  for  a  time  at  least  the  dear  idyllic  life  would  be  resumed. 

But  then  he  might  not.     He  might  never 

"  Now  then,  Stanley;  jump,  lad  !     Now  we're  off." 
The  great  paddles  dashed  slowly  round,  and  down  the 
river  dropped  the  steamer,  and  next  morning  found  Stanley 
Grahame  far  away  from  Beaumont  Park. 


IX. 

SAILOR  LAD  ON  HIS  BEAM  ENDS— HUNTER'S 
HOWE— FRIENDS  IN  NEED  ARE  FRIENDS  IN- 
DEED. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

A  SAILOR   LAD  ON   HIS   BEAM   ENDS — HUNTERS   HOWE — FRIENDS 
IN    NEED   ARE   FRIENDS   INDEED. 

IT  was  near  the  close  of  a  summer's  day  about  six  years 
after  the  events  narrated  in  last  chapter.  It  had  not* 
been  a  very  bright  day,  nor  a  very  beautiful  one,  and  the 
tourist  passengers  homeward-bound  from  Rothesay  or  the 
western  isles  had  good  cause  for  grumbling,  especially 
those  who  had  never  before  steamed  up  the  broad  and 
romantic  Clyde,  for  though  glints  of  the  green  woods,  the 
bosky  dells  and  bonnie  glens,  could  be  seen  on  either  side, 
the  grand  old  hills  remained  sullenly  encapped  in  mist. 

Opposite  Greenock  the  boat  was  stopped  for  a  few 
short  seconds,  barely  allowing  time  for  two  or  three  steer- 
age passengers,  with  their  bundles  and  sticks,  to  scramble 
over  the  bows  into  a  wretched-looking  shore  boat  or  cobble. 

Ten  minutes  afterwards  these  passengers  were  landed 
on  the  quay,  and  immediately  separated,  each  going  his 
own  way  on  his  own  business,  probably  to  meet  no  more 
again  in  this  world. 

But  one  of  them  lingered  for  many  minutes  behind  the 
rest,  a  tall  handsome  young  man  or  lad,  for  he  might  have 
been  any  age  between  seventeen  and  five-and-twenty. 
"  Younger  probably  than  he  looks,"  any  one  would  have 
said  who  had  glanced  at  him,  "  but  how  careworn  he 
seems." 

Yes,  there  was  anxiety  in  his  large  eyes,  and  his  cheek- 
bones were  certainly  higher  than  health  required  them. 


io6 


Stanley  Grahame. 


He  took  from  his  trousers  pocket  a  few  pence  and  gazed 
half  wistfully  at  them. 

"  I  should  have  liked  to  have  gone  all  the  way  to  Glasgow 
in  the  boat,"  he  said  to  himself,  half  aloud,  "  but  —seven — 
nine — ninepence-halfpenny  and  a  threepenny-bit;  no,  I 
couldn't  have  afforded  it.  But  what  is  a  twenty-mile  tramp 
to  me,  to  long  legs  like  mine,  long  legs  and  a  good  stick  ? 
Ninepence-halfpenny  and  a  threepenny-bit.  Ha  1  ha  !  ha  ! 


1 


It's  good  fun.  At  least  it  would  be  if  I  wasn't  quite  so 
hungry." 

He  sat  down  on  a  great  log  of  timber,  put  one  knee  over 
the  other,  and  whistled.  He  was  whistling  a  beautiful 
dreamy  melody  from  Mozart,  but  I'm  sure  he  didn't  know 
what  he  was  whistling. 

"  So  hungry,"  he  muttered.  "  Ever  since  I  had  yellow 
fever  I  have  hardly  been  able  to  eat  enough  to  satisfy 
myself.  Well,  I'll  spend  that  threepenny-piece,  anyhow. 
Bread  and  coffee,  Grant's  coffee  house  in  Borlem's  Close 
the  steward  said.  So  here's  for  off." 


On  His  Beam  Ends.  107 

He  grasped  his  stick,  started  up,  and  marched  away, 
swinging  his  bundle  and  singing  as  he  went. 

"  You're  a  merry  lad,"  said  a  great  hulking  shore  porter 
that  he  nearly  ran  against.  "And  not  much  on  your  back 
either.  A  pair  of  duck  pants  and  purser's  shoes,  a  blue 
jersey,  and  a  straw  hat ;  sailor  evidently ;  but  maybe  you 
carry  your  wealth  in  that  bundle  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  the  lad,  "all  I  have  in  the  world — my 
jacket.  But,  say,  can  you  direct  me  to  Grant's  coffee- 
house ?" 

"  Have  you  a  plug  o'  baccy  ?  "  was  the  reply. 

"  Really  no ;  I'm  sorry  I  haven't,"  said  the  lad. 

"  Have  ye  the  price  of  a  pint  ?  " 

"Well — yes — if  you  really  want  it  I  can  just  manage 
that.  I  have  nine " 

"Keep  your  dibs,"  cried  the  porter,  laughing.  "You're 
an  honest-faced  lad,  and  an  open-hearted.  Here's  my 
card.  I'm  called  English  Bill  if  ever  you  want  assistance. 
Now  come  on,  and  I'll  show  you  Grant's." 

"Thank  you.  Good-bye,"  said  the  lad,  when  he  had 
brought  him  to  the  house. 

Grant's  coffee-house  was  certainly  not  a  palace.  But  it 
did  not  pretend  to  be ;  only  it  was  clean  and  cheap.  There 
was  not  a  soul  in  it  when  the  lad  entered  and  seated  him- 
self in  one  of  the  little  partitioned  boxes  that  did  duty  for 
private  rooms.  The  dividing  partitions  of  these  were 
canvas,  papered  on  both  sides.  They  looked  solid,  but 
were  not  even  pin-proof.  Yet  each  box  had  a  door  of  its 
own,  and,  when  once  inside,  looked  far  from  uncomfort- 
able. When  bread,  butter,  and  coffee  were  set  before  this 
tall,  hungry  sailor  lad  by  the  not  over-tidy  waiting-maid 
he  considered  himself  in  luck  indeed. 

"And  all  for  one  small  threepenny-bit,"  he  thought. 
"  Why,  hungry  as  I  am,  I'll  hardly  manage  to  get  through 
it." 

But  he  did  though. 


io8  Stanley  Grahame. 

"And  now  I'll  think,"  he  said,  pushing  aside  the  tray, 
and  dropping  his  weary  head  on  his  bundle.  "Then  I'll 
set- out  and  tramp  all  night." 

If  thinking  meant  sleeping  and  perhaps  dreaming,  he 
certainly  was  not  long  in  commencing  operations,  for 
hardly  was  his  head  down  before  he  was  oft"  to  the  land 
of  forgetfulness. 

It  might  have  been  three  hours  before  he  stirred  again. 
The  girl  had  come  in  and  taken  the  tray  away. 

"  Poor  laddie !  he's  tired,"  she  thought.  "  I'll  leave  him 
in  the  dark,  else  master'll  turn  him  oot." 

He  awoke  with  a  kind  of  a  start  and  a  cold  shuddering 
feeling,  for  which  he  could  not  account. 

There  were  voices  talking  close  beside  him  in  hoarse 
whispers,  just  on  the  other  side  of  that  paper  partition. 

"  Hush  ! "  one  said ;  "  are  ye  sure  no  one  can  hear  us  ?  " 

"I  looked  into  a'  the  compartments,"  was  the  reply; 
"  they're  a'  dark.  There's  not  a  single  sinner  in  Grant's 
the  nicht  but  the  auld  man  himsel',  and  he's  noddin'  ower 
the  fire.  No,  lads,  as  I  was  sayin',  the  job  can  be  done 
easily  and  safely.  He  has  oceans  or  gold  in  a  belt  round 
his  waist.  Sally  told  me.  She  saw  it  the  day.  Ye  ken 
what  a  tongue  she  has,  and  how  she  can  wheedle  roun' 
the  sailors,  and  this  chap,  she  says,  is  safter  than  any  she 
ever  came  across." 

"Go  on,"  said  voice  No.  i,  "but  whisper,  man,  whisper. 
Wa's  hae  lugs." 

Thus  admonished  voice  No.  2  was  lowered,  and  our 
sailor  lad,  now  all  alive  and  listening,  had  considerable 
difficulty  in  following  the  thread  of  the  discourse.  But  he 
heard  enough  to  make  his  blood  curdle.  He  heard  enough 
to  let  him  understand  that  robbery  and  violence,  if  not 
even  murder,  were  being  planned  by  the  three  villains  in 
the  next  compartment;  that  the  victim  would  be  some  poor 
sailor  man  newly  returned  from  abroad  with  his  savings 
all  in  gold  in  a  girdle  round  his  waist;  that  this  girl  Sally. 


"  What  shall  I  do?"  109 

whoever  she  was,  and  he  were  now  at  a  concert ;  that  after 
the  concert  she  was  to  walk  three  miles  into  the  country 
on  pretence  of  going  home  to  her  mother's  cottage,  and  that 
the  sailor  was  to  give  her  escort.  He  did  not  hear  the  name 
of  the  cottage.  Perhaps  there  was  no  cottage,  but  repeat- 
edly he  heard  the  name  "  Hunter's  Howe  "  mentioned. 

"  Mind,  Jock,  there  maun  be  no  knifin'  this  time,"  said 
one  voice. 

"  Unless,  ye  know — "  said  the  other. 

"  But  remember  that  affair  at  Paterson's — 

"  Bah  !  man,  ceme  along  out  and  have  some  whiskey. 
You'll  maybe  no  be  sae  squeamish  after  that." 

As  soon  as  they  were  gone,  "  What  shall  I  do  ?  "  said  our 
sailor  lad  to  himself. 

"  Go  and  alarm  the  police  ?  No,  they  would  but  laugh 
at  me.  I'm  not  over  respectable-looking,  and  they  might — 
oh !  I  have  it.  I'll  go  and  see  English  Bill.  He  looks 
honest.  Here's  off  again  once  more." 

He  had  to  ask  his  way  sevcial  times  ere  he  found  Bill's 
garret.  Haply  Bill  was  in,  and  had  his  boots  off. 

"  What,  my  sailor  boy  !  "  cried  Bill.  "  Well,  well,  but 
what's  in  the  wind,  matey?  You  look  as  white  as  a  sheet." 

The  lad  hastily  told  him  all  he  had  heard,  and  Bill  began 
to  put  on  his  boots  before  he  had  half  finished. 

"  Did  you  sec  them  ?  "  he  said,  quietly. 

"I  did,"  said  the  lad,  "I  opened  a  tiny  hole  in  the 
partition  with  my  knife,  and  I'd  know  them  again  easily." 

"Come  on,"  said  Bill.  He  buttoned  his  coat  as  he  spoke, 
previously  pocketing  a  sturdy  truncheon.  "Very  likely 
they.'vc  started  before  now7.  If  not  we'll  go  on  first." 

"  But  how  shall  we  know  ?  "  asked  the  lad. 

"Easily,"  was  the  reply.  "We'll  just  take  a  look  into 
the  whiskey  howffs  near  Grant's.  Folk  that  love  the  drink 
never  go  much  beyond  the  nearest  inn  to  get  it." 

The  moon,  a  great  round  red  one,  wras  rising  and  struggling 
with  the  bank  of  fog  that  lay  along  the  braes  beyond  the 


I  io  Stanley  Grahame. 

town,  when  they  found  themselves  in  front  of  a  brightly 
lighted  tavern. 

"  This  is  Paterson's,"  said  Bill.  "  There  have  been  queer 
doings  here  before  now." 

They  entered.  Three  evil-visaged  fellows  sat  drinking 
neat  whiskey  on  the  top  of  a  barrel  that  did  duty  for  both 
seats  and  table. 

The  sailor  lad  touched  Bill  lightly  on  the  arm.  That" 
was  enough.  They  had  some  refreshment,  which  the 
youth  paid  for,  and  once  more  sallied  forth. 

"  Now,  then,  we're  sure  they  are  not  before  us.  Let  us 
on  to  Hunter's  Howe.  They  look  strong  villains,  but  if  the 
poor  beggar  they  mean  to  murder  is  anything  like  me,  we'll 
be  good  enough  for  them." 

It  was  past  ten  ere  they  started ;  the  sky  was  now 
bright  and  clear,  and  the  moon  shining  brightly  enough  for 
any  purpose.  That  is,  it  shone  brightly  in  the  open,  but 
when  the  trees  began  to  close  overhead,  and  finally,  when 
the  road  descended  into  Hunter's  Howe,  the  heroes  in  this 
night's  adventure  thought  they  could  have  done  with  a 
little  more  light. 

Hunter's  Howe  was  an  eeriesome  enough  place  even  by 
day.  It  was  a  place  that  bore  a  bad  name  too,  for  many 
a  highway  robbery  had  been  committed  here  in  days  gone 
by,  and  if  countryside  talk  were  anything  to  attach  import- 
ance to,  murder  itself  had  stalked  red-handed  among  the 
gloomy  firs  in  this  uncanny  dingle.  Bill  and  his  young 
companion  hid  themselves  behind  some  spruce  firs,  near  to 
the  entrance  to  the  Howe,  nor  had  they  very  long  to  wait 
ere  down  the  road  came  the  selfsame  three  scoundrels 
they  had  left  at  Paterson's  Inn. 

"  I  feel  sure,"  said  one,  "  I  saw  some  one  in  front  of  us." 

"  Nonsense,  man,"  cried  the  tallest  and  roughest-looking 
of  the  murderous  trio.  "You're  squeamish,  man.  You're 
an  auld  wife.  What  for  do  you  no'  gang  harne?  Jock 
and  I  can  do  the  business  our  twa  selves  easy  eneuoh." 


Hunter*  s  Howe.  1 1 1 

"Ay,"  said  Jock,  gruffly,  "and  we  can  share  the  gold 
between  us  as  well." 

Then  they  hurried  on,  and  no  doubt  hid  themselves  in 
the  wood  lower  down,  for  the  sound  of  their  heavy  boots 
was  soon  inaudible,  and  all  was  now  silent  in  the  Howe, 
save  the  occasional  cry  of  the  brown  owl,  or  the  frightened 
and  mournful  scream  of  some  night  bird. 

It  was  a  long  weary  hour  that  followed,  for  time  always 
does  seem  long  when  one  is  waiting. 

Bill  put  his  arm  kindly  across  the  sailor  lad's  shoulder. 
He  was  shaking  with  cold,  for  the  air  around  was  damp 
and  chill. 

"  You're  not  afraid,  are  you  ?  "  whispered  Bill. 

"  Not  I,"  replied  the  lad,  "  only  cold." 

"  Well,  you're  only  a  young  'un,  you  know.  But  take  a 
pull  at  this  flask.  It  is  good  whiskey." 

"  Thank  you,  no,"  said  the  other.  "  Dutch  courage,  Bill. 
I  will  not  touch  it  now,  nor  ever,  I  trust.  Young  as  I  am 
I  know  the  cost  of  that." 

"  Hush  !  "  cried  Bill ;  "  listen." 

Nearer  and  nearer  it  came.  Only  some  manly  voice 
trilling  a  song,  a  brave  old  sea-song,  to  a  ringing  old  sea 
melody. 

"  The  busy  crew  the  sails  unbending, 
The  ship  in  harbour  safe  arrived, 
Jack  Oakum  all  his  perils  ending, 
Jack  Oakum  all  his  perils  ending, 

Had  made  the  port  where  Sally  lived." 

"Poor  fellow!"  whispered  Bill.  "He  comes  singing  or 
to  certain  death  if  we  can't  manage  to  save  him.  And  that 
girl  on  his  arm.  Look  at  her  face." 

It  certainly  seemed  a  pretty  enough  one  in  the  moon- 
light. 

"I  know  her  well,"  said  Bill,  "and  many  a  poor  sailor 
does  so  to  his  cost."' 

The  girl  was  glancing    uneasily  around   her.  as    if  she 


1 1 2  Stanley  d  a/iame. 

expected  every  moment  that  the  assassins  would  leap  into 
the  road  and  fall  upon  their  victim.  The  latter  was  well 
dressed  in  a  suit  of  blue  pilot,  and  was  probably  mate  ot 
some  merchant  ship. 

The  pair  had  come  along  through  the  fields,  and  not  by 
the  highway,  else  it  might  have  been  easy  to  have  met 
them  and  warned  this  innocent  sailor  not  to  enter  the 
wood — a  warning  which,  even  had  it  been  possible  to  give 
it,  would  in  all  probability  have  been  disregarded,  for 
sailors  are  proverbially  headstrong  and  careless. 

Even  now  Bill  hesitated  how  to  act.  Bill  would  have  made 
a  good  soldier,  but  a  bad  general.  That  hesitancy  almost  cost 
a  life,  for  while  he  was  still  deliberating  the  girl  shrieked 
and  ran  back  towards  the  town,  and  at  the  same  moment 
the  sailor  was  felled  to  the  earth  by  a  blow  from  behind. 

There  was  no  more  hesitating  with  Bill  now. 

"  Hands  off,  you  cowards  !  "  he  shouted. 

Next  moment  the  three  assailants  had  turned  fiercely 
round  to  meet  the  attacking  party. 

Three  to  two.  Yes,  but  Bill  and  our  sailor  lad  had  right 
on  their  side,  stout  hearts  and  heavy  cudgels,  and  the 
would-be  robbers  fell  back  before  the  suddenness  of  the 
first  attack  as  if  they  had  been  but  schoolboys. 

"  Knives,  lads,  knives  !  "  shouted  the  biggest  of  the  three. 
"  Give  them  Greenock  ! " 

"  Ay !  "  cried  the  others ;  "  hurrah  for  Greenock  and 
Cardiff!" 

Knives  now  flashed  in  the  moonlight,  and  although  one 
of  the  ruffians  almost  immediately  after  measured  his 
length  on  the  ground  he  was  speedily  up  again,  and  it 
would  doubtless  have  gone  hard  for  our  heroes  had  not  the 
sound  of  rapidly  approaching  wheels  at  the  same  moment 
put  an  instant  end  to  the  combat. 

"  Heels,  boys,  heels  !  "  cried  the  ringleader,  and  he  and 
his  fellows  rushed  headlong  into  the  copse  and  were  seen 
again  no  more. 


Between  Life  and  Death.  113 

Timely  aid  had  come  in  the  shape  of  an  honest  old 
farmer,  who  was  jogging  homewards  in  his  dogcart  from 
the  market. 

Matters  were  soon  explained  to  him.  The  form  of  the 
prostrate  sailor  was  lifted  into  the  cart,  and  half-an-hour 
afterwards  they  found  themselves  at  Bill's  humble  home. 
The  farmer  had  done  his  duty,  and  so  retired.  Not  so  Bill. 
He  considered  he  had  done  but  half  of  his,  and  he  deter- 
mined to  complete  his  work,  so  he  hurried  away  for  a 
surgeon. 

The  doctor's  verdict  was  soon  pronounced.  The  wound 
was  so  severe  that  removal  to  hospital  would  be  fraught 
with  danger.  If  he  could  be  nursed  where  he  was  it  would 
be  infinitely  better;  he  had  lost  so  much  blood  already. 

"  I'll  stay  beside  him  for  a  few  days,  at  all  events,"  said 
the  sailor  lad.  "  He  is  a  seafarer  like  myself,  and " 

The  poor  lad  stopped  short.  He  remembered  he  had 
little  more  than  sixpence  in  the  world.  He  hung  his  head 
and  blushed. 

"  I  know  what  you're  thinking  about,"  said  Bill,  bluntly, 
"and  you  are  welcome  to  bite  and  sup  in  my  garrets  as 
long  as  you  like  to  stay." 

The  wounded  man's  eyes  had  been  resting  on  the  sailor 
lad  during  the  conversation. 

lie  now  beckoned  him  towards  him. 

"Stay,"  he  whispered,  "don't  leave  me." 

"  Yes,  stay,  lad,"  said  Bill.  "My  two  rooms  are  not  big; 
they  are  only  garrets,  but  stay,  lad,  stay." 

"  I  will,  then,"  said  the  youthful  sailor. 

"  Then  it's  all  arranged,"  said  the  surgeon.  "  I'll  be 
here  to-morrow  to  dress  him  again.  Good  night." 

For   more  than  a  week  the  wounded  man  hovered  be 
twccn  death  and  life,  and  the  sailor  lad  watched  by  hirn 
night  and  day.     Had  it  been  his  own  brother,  hardly  could 
he  have  been  kinder  to  him  than  he  was.      In  ten  days  he 
was  able  to  sit  up  a  little  and  talk,  and  one  morning  Bill 

8 


H4  Stanley  Grahame. 

went    to  a  drawer  and  took  therefrom  a  sailor's   leathern 
girdle  and  placed  it  on  the  bed. 

"You'd  better  count  your  money,"  said  Bill,  "and  see  if 
it  be  all  right." 

The  man's  dark  eyes  were  opened  wide  with  astonish- 
ment and  delight. 

"What!"  he  cried;  "then  I  wasn't  robbed!  Neither 
robbed  nor  murdered  !  Oh  !  Heaven  be  praised,  and  you 
be  thanked.  Most  of  this  gold  was  for  my  old  father.  Had 
I  lost  it,  as  I  deserved  to,  back  to  sea  I'd  have  had  to  go  for 
years  more  without  even  looking  upon  his  dear  face.  But  a 
portion  of  this  gold — all  I  can  spare — shall  be  yours,  my 
dear  young  friend,  and  yours,  good  Bill." 

But  the  sailor  lad  put  his  hand  on  the  man's  arm. 

"  Not  a  coin  of  that  money  do  I  touch,"  he  said  with  a 
calm  smile.  "  I'm  on  my  beam  ends,  I  grant  you,  but  I'm 
young,  I'll  right  again.  The  storm  has  nearly  blown  over." 

"Then  how  ever  shall  1  repay  you?"  cried  the  man. 
"  And  yet,"  he  added,  musingly,  "  there  is  no  knowing 
where  sailors  may  meet,  or  what  they  may  have  it  in  their 
power  to  do  one  for  another.  There  is  no  knowing.  But, 
lad,  one  thing  you  will  not  refuse  me — you  must  get  your- 
self rigged  out  in  decent  togs.  There  !  I  won't  offend  your 
pride,  I'll  give  you  no  money,  but  I'll  lend  you  that  much, 
ay,  and  force  you  to  accept  the  loan. 

"  You  see,"  he  continued,  "  you  want  to  get  a  ship.  You 
say  you've  been  third  officer.  Who  knows  but  we  may  sail 
together  ?  But  in  that  rig  no  ship-master  would  look  twice 
at  you.  Come  now,  add  to  the  favours  you  have  already 
done  me  by  accepting  the  trifling  loan.  Loan,  mind,  loan, 
d'ye  hear  ?— and  when  you  get  a  ship  you  can  repay  me." 

The  sailor  lad  consented  now,  and  went  off  at  once,  in 
obedience  to  his  newly-found  friend's  wish,  to  get  "  rigged 
out,"  as  he  called  it. 

Two  hours  after  he  re-entered  the  garret,  smartly  dressed, 
and  sat  down  somewhat  shyly  by  the  edge  of  the  bed. 


A  Friend  Indeed.  115 

"  And  now,"  said  the  wounded  man,  "  there  is  one  thing 
I've  suspected,  but  am  now  sure  of.  You  may  have  been 
before  the  mast,  but  you're  a  gentleman.  Now  tell  me 
your  real  name.  It  is  not  Tom  Smith." 

"  It  is  Stanley  Grahame,"  said  the  sailor  lad. 

Well  then,  Stanley,  let  us  know  more  about  each  other. 
My  story  is  short,  though  strange  enough.  But  you — how 
came  a  young  lad  like  you  to  be  taken  so  flat  aback  ?  and, 
Stanley,  what  keeps  you  on  your  beam  ends  ?  You  werj 
to  have  sailed  again  before  the  mast,  were  you  not  ?  " 

"  I  was  indeed,"  replied  Stanley.  "  How  could  I  have 
done  otherwise  ?  But  you  shall  hear  and  judge  for  yourself. " 


X. 

A  PORTION  OF  STANLEY'S  STORY  TOLD  BY  HIMSELF 
—  THE  FATE  OF  THE    "  IV AN  HOE." 


CHAPTER  X. 

A  PORTION  OF  STANLEY'S  STORY  TOLD  BY  HIMSELF — THE  FATE 
OF  THE  "  IVANHOE." 

"  T   T  ULLO  !   here  is  the  doctor,"  cried  Cooke,  for  that 

J_  J.  was  the  name  of  the  wounded  sailor  that  Stanley 
Grahame  had  volunteered  to  nurse. 

"I  like  that  'hullo/  Mr.  Cooke,"  said  the  doctor  laughing; 
"  it  is  a  hearty  one." 

He  placed  his  fingers  on  his  patient's  wrist  as  he  spoke 
Then  he  touched  his  cheek. 

"  There  is  a  bit  of  a  flush  just  there  that  I  don't  quite 
like.  Oh,  I  know  how  it  is :  you  sailor  lads  have  been 
spinning  yarns  one  to  the  other." 

"  No,"  said  Cooke  ;  "  but  we  were  going  to." 

"Then  you  won't,"  replied  the  doctor.  "D'ye  hear? 
Never  a  yarn  for  a  week  to  come.  Your  nurse  can  read  to 
you  instead." 

"Very  well/'  said  Cooke;  "you  are  head  man  here, 
doctor." 

"  Should  think  I  was,"  said  the  man  of  medicine. 

"And  what  a  lot  you've  done  for  me." 

"  But  what  a  constitution  you  have,"  said  his  interrogator, 
modestly. 

"  Well,  then,"  he  continued,  "  you  are  able  to  get  up  a 
little  now,  and  sit  by  that  open  window  and  breathe  the 
fresh  air  that  blows  over  Bill's  box  of  mignonette.  Bill, 
where  are  you  ?  " 

"  Here  I  am,  sir,"  said  Bill,  entering  the  little  room. 


I2O  Stanley  Grahame. 

"  Look  here,  Bill,  you'll  catch  the  down  boat  to-morrow, 
and  run  right  away  to  Rothesay,  and  take  rooms  close  by 
the  sea,  and  in  a  few  days  I'll  start  the  whole  three  of  you 
off  down  there.  My  patient  will  get  well  in  a  fortnight 
there,  and  as  I  have  business  in  the  island  twice  a  week 
I  can  always  pop  in,  don't  you  see  ?  " 

"  You'll  be  obeyed,  sir,"  said  Bill.  "  The  change  will  do 
myself  good  too.  I  haven't  been  picking  so  well  of  late." 

The  surgeon  looked  at  him  from  top  to  toe,  and  vice  versa, 
then  nodded  his  head  and  laughed. 

"You're  in  a  galloping  consumption,  Bill,"  he  said; 
"consumption  of  victuals;  galloping  consumption,  because 
I  do  believe  you  could  eat  a  horse." 

His  friends  hardly  knew  honest  Bill  next  day,  when  he 
came  into  the  back  attic  to  say  good-bye  before  starting  for 
Rothesay.  A  blue  cloth  coat  and  vest  of  white,  any  amount 
of  shirt-front  and  gold-chain,  and  a  long  black  hat  on  his 
head.  What  with  the  hat  and  his  height  he  had  no  room 
to  stand  in  the  little  attic,  so  for  his  own  comfort  he  had  to 
assume  the  shape  of  a  Belgian  canary. 

A  very  happy  little  group  were  seated  on  the  lawn  of  a 
pleasant  cottage  down  in  Rothesay  about  a  week  after  this. 
The  lawn  was  gay  with  flowers,  the  birds  made  melody  in 
every  bush,  and  the  sea  rippled  up  to  the  very  gate.  There 
was  honest  Bill,  the  shore  porter,  who  had  just  placed  coffee 
on  the  table;  and  Stanley,  looking  infinitely  better  now 
than  when  he  landed  at  Greenock  with  ninepence-halfpenny 
and  a  threepenny-piece  in  his  pocket ;  and  there  was  the 
young  surgeon,  who  had  dropped  in  to  see  his  patient ;  and 
the  patient  himself  in  a  rocking-chair.  His  bronzed  face 
was  somewhat  paler  than  it  had  been  seme  weeks  ago,  but 
with  his  rich  brown  beard,  his  finely-formed  nose,  and  dark 
eyes,  and  his  cap  stuck  carelessly  on  the  back  of  his  head, 
he  looked  every  inch  a  sailor,  and  a  very  handsome  one 
too. 

Stanley  was  talking.     Not  much  of  a  story-teller  was  the 


Stanley* s  Story. 


121 


lad,  however.  When  he  began  first  it  looked  as  though  he 
were  talking  to  his  boot.  He  had  one  leg  over  the  other, 
and  kept  poking  his  boot  with  the  point  of  his  cane,  as 
if  he  wanted  to  impress  the  story  on  its  darkened  under- 
standing. 

He  spoke  of  his  arrival  in  America  and  reception  by  his 
uncle,  and  told  his  hearers — or  his  boot — all  about  the  fight 
with  the  Indians  and  the  burning  of  the  pretty  little  yacht. 
He  was  loud  in  his  praises  of  Sambo,  and,  of  course,  he  did 
not  forget  to  mention  Ida,  his  child-nurse,  and  all  her  kind- 
ness. Then  he  came  to  the  parting,  the  going  away  from 
dear  old  Beaumont  Park,  where  he  had  been  so  very,  very 


happy.  It  was  exactly  at  this  point  of  his  story  that  Stanley 
ceased  to  appeal  any  more  to  his  boot.  He  lifted  his  one 
knee  off  the  other,  and,  bending  forward,  began  to  make 
circles  and  triangles  with  his  cane  on  the  gravel.  He  was 
silent  for  fully  a  minute,  but  nobody  spoke.  Only  the 
doctor  winked  to  Cooke,  and  Cooke  winked  to  Bill,  and  Bill 
winked  back  to  both  of  them. 

"That  was  the  worst  of  it,"  said  Stanley  at  last,  giving  a 
vicious  blow  with  his  cane  to  an  unoffending  pebble.  Then 
he  started  up  and  took  a  few  brisk  strides  down  the  path, 
and  came  back  as  suddenly  as  he  had  gone,  and  reseated 
himself. 


122  Stanley  Grahame. 

"  Yes,  that  was  the  worst  of  it,  and  I  have  never  forgotten 
it  all  these  years,  and  what  is  more  I  never  shall." 

"  But,"  said  Mr.  Cooke,  mildly,  "  you  haven't  told  us  yet 
which  was  the  worst  of  it." 

"  Oh  !  didn't  I  though  ?  "  said  Stanley,  opening  his  eyes 
as  if  in  wonder.  "  I  mean,  you  know,  having  spoken  so 
cruelly  to  poor  Ida,  and  having  to  go  away  without  saying 
good-bye.  I  expected  to  get  back  in  a  day  or  two,  but 
never  could  and  never  have  been.  It  is  too  late  now,  she 
is  gone,  and  I'll  never,  never  see  her  again. 

"  I'm  sure,  though,"  he  went  on,  "  that  uncle  meant  all 
for  the  best,  but  he  never  could  have  imagined  I  would 
have  been  treated  as  I  have  been.  Nor  could  he  have 
known  the  captain  of  the  Trincomalee,  in  heart  and  soul,  as 
to  my  sorrow  I  came  to  know  him  before  I  had  sailed  two 
days  in  his  ship." 

"  He  was  a  tartar,  was  he  ?  "  put  in  Mr.  Cooke. 

"  A  tartar  ?  "  repeated  Stanley,  "  ay,  and  a  tyrant." 

"  I  know  his  stamp  and  his  style,"  said  Cooke  ;  "  there  are 
many  of  them  still  in  the  merchant  service,  though,  thank 
goodness,  not  so  many  as  there  used  to  be.  But  no  doubt 
you  learned  a  good  many  of  your  ideas  of  sea  life  from  books, 
as  most  boys  do,  and  came  to  think  it  is  all  beauty,  dash, 
romance,  and  moonshine.  Go  on,  I'm  interrupting  you." 

"  Some  of  my  ideas  of  sea  life  I  certainly  did  learn  from 
stories.  My  little  sister  Ailie  and  I  used  to  get  away  up 
together  into  a  tree,  in  our  dear  old  forest,  and  there  I  used 
to  read  to  her  for  hours,  but  the  ship  I  crossed  the  Atlantic 
in  first — oh  !  she  was  a  model  ship  and  had  a  model  master. 
I  wish  I  had  time  to  tell  you  all  about  her." 

"I  can  guess,  my  dear  boy;  but  continue.  Were  you 
bound  apprentice  ?  " 

"Bound  a  slave,  it  seemed  to  me.*     You  see,  Mr.  Cooke, 

*  The  author  deems  it  only  fair  to  himself  to  state  that  the  description 
of  Stanley's  treatment  on  the  Trincomalce  is  no  flight  of  imagination, 
but  hardly  half  the  truth.— G.  S. 


Stanley's  Story.  123 

my  uncle  had  an  idea  that  the  only  way  to  make  a  man  of 
a  boy  was  to  make  him  rough  it." 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  ! "  laughed  Cooke,  "  a  gentleman  of  the 
real  old  'school,  I'll  be  bound,  but  gallant  and  true,  no 
doubt." 

"Ay,  that  he  is,"  said  Stanley,  his  eyes  brimming  with 
enthusiasm ;  "  but  he  told  Captain  Allardyce  to  keep  me 
up  to  the  mark  in  duty,  seamanship,  and  everything  else." 

Stanley  paused  for  a  moment,  then  resumed,  smiling — 

"I  can't  help  laughing,  now  that  this  man's  cruelty  is  all 
past  and  gone,  at  his  ideas  of  duty  and  seamanship." 

"  I  think  I  know,"  said  Mr.  Cooke. 

"  Ah  !  but  tell  us,"  said  the  doctor.  "  I  know  nothing, 
you  see,  not  being  nautical." 

"  Duty,"  said  Stanley,  "  in  the  opinion  of  Captain  Allar- 
dyce, of  the  Trincomalce,  consisted  in  the  most  abject 
obedience  to  his  will  and  commands,  whether  connected 
with  the  regular  ship  work  or  not,  at  any  hour  of  the 
day  or  night,  whether  your  watch  was  below  or  on  deck. 
Seamanship,  constant  '  cracking  on  '  as  he  called  it,  at  all 
risk  to  rigging  of  craft  or  life  of  crew,  a  determination  to 
look  after  No.  i — that  was  the  gallant  skipper  himself — and 
a  stern  resolve  to  turn  the  fault  of  every  little  accident  that 
happened  on  board  upon  those  beneath  him.  But  duty 
like  this  would  not  have  been  so  difficult  to  perform  to  one 
like  me,  brought  up  as  I  have  been  in  the  woods  and  wilds 
of  the  north,  had  it  not  been  for  the  fact  that  we  were  at  all 
times  when  on  deck  subject  to  horrid  language,  threats,  and 
kicks  and  blows  from  both  mate  and  master ;  and  while 
below  we  were " 

Stanley  paused  again,  and  looked  at  Mr.  Cooke. 

"  Starved,"  said  the  latter. 

"  I  did  not  like  to  speak  the  word,"  continued  Stanley  ; 
"  but  really  we  were  put  on  short  commons,  and  very 
common  were  these  commons  too." 

"But,  pardon   my  interruption,"  said  the   doctor;  "on 


124  Stanley  Grahame. 

what  plea  could  you  possibly  have  been  subjected  to  such 
treatment,  and  whom  do  you  include  in  the  word  'we'  ?" 

"  The  captain  never  went  far  in  search  of  a  plea,"  replied 
Stanley.  "  Sometimes  we  were  accused  of  neglect  of  duty, 
or  not  working  quickly  enough  or  tumbling  up  on  deck 
fast  enough.  At  other  times  we  were  simply  denied  dinner 
because  we  '  looked  cheeky '  and  were  '  growing  too  fast/ 
and  wanted  taking  down  a  peg.  By  '  we'  I  don't  mean  the 
crew  and  I.  They  were  big  and  strong,  and  could  take 
their  own  part ;  besides,  they  had  an  ugly  way  of  going  aft 
with  their  complaints,  that  both  mate  and  master  had  some 
very  good  reasons  for  dreading.  No,  '  we '  were  poor  Watts 
and  I.  Friends  in  everything  we  were,  friends  in  sorrow 
and  in  the  few  joys  we  had.  One  of  these  was  to  get 
together  in  our  watch  below  and  talk  of  home.  Many  are 
the  hours'  sleep  we  had  to  want  for  so  doing,  but  we  didn't 
mind  that,  because  he,  like  myself,  had  a  mother  and  sister 
who  loved  him.  And  sadly  they  must  have  missed  him 
too,  though  I  never  heard  anything  about  it.  I  know  I 
missed  him." 

"  But,"  said  the  doctor,  "  was  he  lost,  then  ?  " 

"Yes,"  replied  Stanley — "fell  from  the  yardarm  into  the 
sea  while  reefing  topsails  one  squally  night  near  Cape  Horn. 
I  don't  wonder.  The  wind  came  down  in  fierce  blasts  and 
struck  you  on  the  shoulders,  as  you  leant  over,  with  the 
force  of  a  battering-ram;  then  it  was  dark  and  bitterly 
cold. 

"  I  was,"  continued  Stanley,  "  in  that  ship  for  nearly 
four  years,  during  which  time  I  seem  to  have  lived  a  life- 
time and  been  almost  everywhere.  I  grew  a  man,  too — 
the  man  you  now  see  me." 

The  doctor  smiled,  and  so  did  Cooke,  and  Bill  laughed 
right  out,  which  was  very  unmannerly  of  Bill. 

"  The  mate,  who  remained  in  her  all  the  time,  found  out 
that  I  was  handy,  and  he  rated  me,  gave  me  a  kind  of 
promotion,  and  used  to  make  me  keen  his  own  watch  for 


Stanley  s  Story.  125 

him  in  dirty  weather,  or  whenever  from  other  reasons  he 
wanted  to  remain  below.  Now,  bad  officers  make  bad 
crews.  I've  learned  that,  young  as  you  all  think  me,  and 
even  on  dark  nights  our  look-outs  were  improperly  kept, 
and  I'm  not  sure  that  the  lights  were  always  what  they 
should  have  been.  But  one  night  our  vessel  seemed  as 
safe  as  ever  ship  was.  We  were  bound  to  Valparaiso  with 
a  mixed  cargo,  and  if  the  wind  held  should  have  hoped  to 
reach  that  port  in  four  or  five  days.  It  was  in  the  queer 
season  when  storms  and  squalls  may  be  expected,  but  all 
day  the  sky  had  been  quite  overcast  with  big,  dark,  bunchy 
clouds,  and  now  and  then  heavy  showers,  but  nothing  of  a 
sea  on  to  speak  of,  so  you  may  be  sure  that  as  soon  as  the 
sun  got  well  down  there  wasn't  too  much  light.  There 
were  flashes  of  lightning  just  now  and  then,  but  they  did 
more  harm  than  good.  Perhaps  that  was  the  reason  that 
took  me  forward  when  I  came  up  for  the  middle  watch,  for 
I  could  not  trust  my  men.  If  I'd  been  aft  it  would  have 
been  better  for  the  ship,  and  better  for  the  mate  and 
master. 

"It  must  have  been  considerably  past  four  bells,  for  I 
remember  wondering  why  they  had  not  been  struck.  The 
man  at  the  wheel  could  see  the  cabin  clock,  and  it  was  his 
duty  to  call  out  the  time.  The  man  was  gone,  the  helm 
lashed ;  but  a  strange  smell  of  burning  was  coming  up  out 
of  the  captain's  cabin.  I  ran  to  the  hatchway  and  opened 
it,  and  smoke  came  pouring  up.  But  down  in  that  cabin 
there  was  visible  fire  as  well,  and  as  it  came  licking  up 
and  sought  exit  I  could  tell  by  the  fumes  it  was  burning 
spirit. 

"  A  few  seconds  afterwards  the  bell  of  the  Trincomalce 
rang  as  it  perhaps  never  rang  before,  and  certainly  never 
will  again. 

"  My  first  duty  was  to  my  captain  now.  I  had  not  for- 
gotten the  teachings  of  my  uncle  at  Beaumont  Park." 

"  And  did  you   save  him  ?  "  cried  Bill,  making  his  big 


126  Stanley  Grahame. 

fist  fall  with  a  ring  on  the  table,  for  at  this  part  of  the  story 
the  honest  shore-porter's  face  was  full  of  excitement. 

"The  men,"  said  Stanley,  modestly,  "did  work  well,  and 
at  last  we  got  him  out,  and  the  mate  too,  but  both  dead. 

"  Spirits  must  have  been  part  of  her  general  cargo.  We 
did  all  we  could  at  first  by  laying-to  to  confine  the  fire  to 
the  after  part  of  the  vessel.  But,  in  spite  of  all,  it  broke 
through  the  closed  hatches ;  then  all  was  over.  Alas  !  the 
despairing  crew,  with  but  few  exceptions,  found  their  way 
to  the  maddening  liquor,  and  many  of  them  paid  the  penalty 
with  their  lives.  Then  ensued  a  wild  scramble  for  the 
boats.  I  think  I  and  a  few  others  would  have  been  left  to 
go  down  in  the  burning  ship,  had  the  rest  had  it  all  their 
own  way.  They  did  not,  however,  for  while  they  were  in 
the  very  act  of  leaving  the  Trincomalee  we  discovered 
several  strange  boats  close  beside  us.  They  were  those 
of  an  outward-bound  ship  that,  seeing  the  fire  from  afar, 
had  borne  down  to  our  assistance. 

"  Gentlemen,"  continued  Stanley,  "  with  the  burning  of 
the  Trincomalee  my  apprenticeship  ended.  Three  months 
afterwards  I  found  myself  in  Melbourne.  Thence  I  sailed 
to  China,  from  China  to  Japan,  Singapore,  Ceylon,  Calcutta, 
Bombay,  more  than  once  to  Bombay,  and  there  I  stayed  for 
a  time  and  passed  for  a  mate.  How  very  proud  I  was  you 
may  be  sure  when  I  found  myself  second  master  of  a 
handsome  clipper  barque  leaving  that  beautiful  roadstead, 
with  its  forest  of  shipping,  its  romantic  city,  a  rippling  sea 
all  around  us,  the  distant  island  of  Elephanta  like  a  land  of 
enchantment  on  our  weather  quarter,  and — 

"  Go  on,  my  dear  boy,"  cried  the  doctor,  "  you  are  getting 
quite  poetic." 

Stanley  blushed,  but  added  bravely,  in  spite  of  his  hot 
face — "  with  hope  in  my  heart." 

Cooke  glanced  slily  over  at  Bill  again,  and  the  doctor  took 
to  watching  the  ants  running  hither  and  thither  on  the 
gravel,  but  nobody  moved  a  muscle,  for  all  knew  this  was 


Stanley's  Story.  127 

the  critical  point  in  Stanley's  story.  Bill  remarked  many 
a  day  after  this  that  he  knew "  the  lad  was  coming  to 
something." 

"I  had  the  hope,"  said  Stanley,  "of  seeing  my  own 
country  again,  my  mother,  and  Ailie ;  and  America  also, 
and — and  Ida.  This  was  natural,  you  know,  because — 
because — oh,  bother! — because,  don't  you  see,  I  had  left 
her  in  grief  because  the  last  words  I  had  spoken  to  the 
child  had  been  those  of  ingratitude. 

"  I  could  have  gone  home  years  before,  I  could  have  gone 
years  ago  to  my  second  home,  to  Beaumont  Park,  but  I  had 
promised  myself  I  would  not  until  I  really  had  roughed  it, 
and  seen  the  world,  .and  until  I  could  show  Ida — well,  I 
mean  my  uncle — my  mate's  certificate.  And  now  we  were 
off,  and  with  a  favouring  breeze  too,  right  away  to  the 
Cape,  and  thence  to  dear  old  England.  During  all  the 
years  I  had  been  voyaging  I  had  had  many  letters,  but 
for  more  than  two  years  before  my  uncle  had  never 
mentioned  Ida's  name,  merely  putting  in  large  letters  in 
the  postscript  the  sailors'  words,  '  All's  well.' 

"  Our  passage  to  the  Cape  was  a  wonderful  one,  but 
I  didn't  think,  for  all  that,  we  went  quite  fast  enough.  At 
last  the  bonnie  hills  above  Capetown  hove  in  sight,  and  at 
last  I  had  landed  and  rushed  away  to  the  post-office,  where 
letters  I  knew  would  be  awaiting  me. 

"  I'll  read  you  a  snatch  of  one.     I  have  it  here." 

Stanley  put  his  hand  into  his  bosom,  and  pulled  out  an 
envelope,  which  might  have  been  an  old  pensioner's 
certificate,  so  frayed  and  worn  was  it.  Then  he  read, 

"  '  I  dare  say,  my  dear  nephew,  you  will  not  have  for.- 
gotten  the  little  girl  that  nursed  you  here  when  ill.  Well, 
lad,  we  will  never  see  her  again,  nor  my  dear  friend 
Captain  Ross  either.  He  took  her  to  sea  with  him  about 
two  years  ago,  and  the  ship  must  have  foundered,  for  she 
has  never  more  been  heard  of,  and  a  good  ship  too  was  the 
Ivanhoc,  though  with  many  new-fangled ,'" 


128  Stanley  Grahame. 

But  Stanley  was  able  to  read  no  farther,  for  Cooke,  who 
had  been  watching  Stanley's  face  earnestly  while  he  read, 
now  sprang  from  his  chair,  and  leaning  over  the  table, — 

"  What ! "  he  cried,  excitedly,  "  Captain  Ross  ! — the 
Ivanhoe  \  Where  have  you  been,  then,  that  you  have  not 
heard  the  news  ?  " 

Stanley  was  now  quite  as  much  excited  as  Cooke. 

"  News,"  he  exclaimed,  "  is  there  indeed  tidings  of  her  at 
last  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  yes,  but  sad  tidings,  boy ;  sit  down  ;  answer  me, 
where  have  you  been  ?  " 

Stanley  spoke  quickly  now.  "  Shipwrecked,"  he  said, 
"  and  after  waiting  for  a  ship  six  months  at  St.  Helena, 
I  worked  my  passage  home  in  a  small  schooner,  and  arrived 
in  Belfast  penniless  ;  thence  to  Rothesay,  then  to  Greenock, 
where  we  met.  Quick,  tell  me,  what  of  the  Ivanhoe  ?  " 

"  I  have  recently  arrived  from  Zanzibar,"  replied  Cooke, 
"and  as  soon  as  I'm  well,  will  go  out  again.  About  the 
last  news  I  heard  before  leaving  that  port  was  of  a  ship  of 
that  name,  and  with  that  captain,  having  gone  down  in  the 
Indian  Ocean,  and  of  one  or  two  boats  having  at  last 
reached  the  Somali  coast,  and  having  been  set  upon  by  the 
Indians  and  all  their  occupants  brutally  murdered." 

Stanley  hid  his  face  in  his  hands. 

"  All !  all  ?     Oh  !     don't  say  all !  "  he  cried. 

"  Alas  !  dear  boy,"  said  Cooke,  kindly,  "  I  kept  back  the 
worst  part  of  the  news.  They  were  not  all  killed.  Some 
few  were  taken  away  into  the  interior — to  a  slavery  worse 
than  death." 

Stanley  left  his  chair  now  and  stood  in  front  of  Mr. 
Cooke.  His  face  was  very  pale,  but  his  voice  was  calm. 

"Cooke,"  he  said,  "  you  go  out  again  to  Africa  in  a  few 
months  ?  " 

"  I  do." 

"I  shall  go." 

The  two  men  simply  grasped  each  other's  hands. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

BY  THE  CLYDE— THE  SCENE  CHANGES— H.  M.  S. 
"TONITRU"  IN  A  GALE  OFF  THE  COAST  OP 
AFRICA— PROSPECTS  OF  A  FIGHT. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

BY  THE  CLYDE — THE  SCENE  CHANGES — H.M.S.    ''  TONITnU  "    IN  A 
GALE    OFF    THE    COAST    OF    AFRICA— PROSPECTS     OF    A    FIGHT. 

MANY  a  time  and  oft  in  his  future  lifetime  did  Stanley 
Grahame  look  back  with  pleasure  to  those  few 
weeks  spent  with  Cooke  and  Bill  in  their  cottage  by  the  sea 
in  that  beautiful  isle  of  the  Clyde.  It  was  in  reality  the 
last  days  of  his  boyhood.  Henceforward  he  was  to  be 
Stanley  Grahame,  the  man.  He  was  not  sorry,  as  far  as 
his  apprenticeship  and  indentures  went,  for  the  fate  of  the 
Trincomalee,  although  he  sighed  as  he  thought  of  the 
dreadful  end  of  the  captain  and  mate,  and  the  burning  of 
the  brave  old  ship.  But  it  had  set  him  free.  He  was  his 
own  master,  to  go  where  he  liked,  to  do  as  he  liked.  He 
was  as  good  a  sailor — ay,  and  he  knew  it  too ;  pray  why 
shouldn't  he  ? — as  most  young  men  of  his  age.  Between 
you  and  me,  reader,  perhaps  he  was  a  better.  He  was  not 
a  mere  swabber,  nor  was  his  knowledge  confined  to  the 
feet-and-finger  work  which  goes  by  the  name  of  reefing, 
splicing,  and  steering.  He  had  had  a  good  education  to 
begin  with.  He  had  not  been  all  these  years  at  sea  with 
his  eyes  shut,  and,  rough  though  his  life  had  been,  and  even 
more  than  busy,  he  had  found  time  to  study  winds  and 
currents  and  skies,  and  make  himself  conversant  with  the 
navigation  of  a  ship,  and  I  verily  believe  that  if  his  modesty 
had  allowed  him  he  could  have  gone  straight  away  from 
before  the  mast  and  taken  his  mate's  certificate  in  Bombay, 
instead  of  spending  some  time  in  earnest  study,  as  he  had 
done. 


132  Slan/ey   Grahame. 

Yes,  Stanley  Grahame  was  a  man — a  very,  very  young 
one,  it  is  true.  He  smiled  a  kind  of  apology  to  himself  for 
his  very  youth  as  he  stood  by  the  Frith  of  Clyde  the  day 
after  he  told  his  story  to  his  companions,  skipping  stones 
across-the  water. 

"  A  man  shouldn't  be  doing  this  sort  of  thing,"  he  thought 
"  but  it  is  good  fun.     Well,  one  other  shy,  and  then  I'm  off 
to  do  a  think,  as  poor  old  Ewen  used  to  say." 

A  few  minutes  afterwards  we  find  him  seated  all  alone 
by  the  waterside  on  the  top  of  a  brown,  weed-covered  rock  ; 
and,  mark  this,  his  face  is  turned  seawards,  not  up  towards 
the  Clyde.  All  the  blue  frith  is  studded  with  sails.  Boat 
and  brig  and  barque  and  ship  are  there,  with  white  sails 
glittering  in  the  sunshine,  and  yonder  is  a  lordly  three- 
decked  steamer,  making  her  way  citywards,  with  the  white 
churned  waters  forming  her  wake,  and  a  long  rope  of  grey 
smoke  trailing  behind  her.  Beyond  are  hills,  and  above 
all,  the  sky,  far  bluer  than  the  sea  that  reflects  its  radiance, 
and  flecked  here  and  there  with  white  feathery  clouds. 
But  Stanley  sees  nothing  of  all  this.  His  thoughts  are  not 
on  the  scenery  around  him.  He  is  reviewing  his  short  but 
eventful  life,  and  laying  plans  for  the  future.  Not  building 
castles  in  the  air,  mind  you,  but  considering  calmly  what 
he  had  best  do  in  order  to  raise  his  dear  mother  and  sister^ 
and,  with  them,  himself,  to  the  position  from  which  the 
revolving  wheel  of  fortune  had  cast  them.  He  does  not 
particularly  wish  to  see  them  rich,  but  he  wants  to  see 
them  comfortable  and  happy.  Might  he  not  succeed  in 
making  them  so  if  he  remained  on  shore  ?  Perhaps  ;  but 
shore  life  was  far  too  tame  for  Stanley  Grahame  ;  besides, 
what  right  has  a  young  sailor  to  live  on  shore  ?  But  had 
he  not  prospects  from  his  uncle  ?  Yes,  and  he  had  also 
pride.  If  his  uncle  really  did  mean  to  do  anything  for  him 
he  should  at  all  events  first  prove  himself  worthy  of  it. 
Ke  will  go  to  America  before  starting  with  Cooke,  and  tell 
his  uncle  what  he  has  resolved  to  do,  and  already  in 


Retrospect.  133 

imagination  he  hears  the  old  captain's  voice  ringing  in  his 
car  as  he  presses  his  hand  and  says,  "  You  do  right,  lad  ; 
you  do  right.  Go  to  sea  again  ;  go  and  seek  your  fortune, 
and  may  God's  blessing  go  with  you." 

Then  his  thoughts  revert  again  to  his  mother  and  Ailie, 
how  rejoiced  they  will  be  to  see  their  sailor-boy ! 

"  How  glad  to  meet,  how  wae  to  part, 
The  day  he  gaes  awa  !  " 

At  this  point  he  mu-t  jump  off  that  brown  rock,  and  take 
to  skipping  stones  ag  in.  Oh,  Stanley !  I'm  afraid  you're 
only  a  boy  after  all. 

But  see,  the  last  stone  drops  from  his  hand  on  the  sand, 
and  a  change  comes  o'er  the  spirit  of  his  dream  and  his 
face.  He  is  thinking  now  of  Ida.  Will  he  ever —  But 
no  ;  she  is  dead.  That  is  certain.  Drowned  !  She  sleeps 
in  the  calm  depths  of  the  Indian  Ocean.  She  lies  where 
pearls  lie  deep.  He  hopes  and  wishes  she  may  be,  for  to 
think  of  Ida,  his  innocent  little  child-nurse — albeit,  if  alive, 
a  child  no  longer — in  the  hands  of  savages  !  No,  no — but 
he  will  learn  her  fate.  Sooner  or  later  he  will  find  out 
where  and  how  poor  Ida  died.  He  is  a  man  now.  He  goes 
and  sits  on  the  rock  again  for  a  while.  He  has  not  anothe'r 
thought  of  skipping  stones,  and  by-and-bye  he  gets  down, 
and,  turning  his  back  to  the  sea,  slowly  retraces  his  steps 

to  the  invalid's  cottage. 

****** 

Neither  officers  nor  crew  of  her  Majesty's  gallant  cruiser 
Tonitru  were  in  the  habit  of  expressing  any  fears  for  the 
safety  of  their  vessel,  even  on  the  stormiest  night  that  ever 
blew.  They  knew  what  she  was  made  of  and  what  she 
could  do,  and  really,  making  all  allowance  for  a  little 
pardonable  pride  on  the  part  of  the  brave  fellows  who  trod 
her  decks,  it  must  be  confessed  she  was,  if  not  quite  all 
they  thought  her,  at  all  events  as  strong  and  bonnie  a  craft 
as  you  could  wish  to  sail  in  and  well  deserved  the  title-  ol 


134  Stanley  Grahame. 

Cock  of  the  'Bique.  The  word  'Bique,  I  may  tell  you,  is  a 
contraction  for  Mozambique,  so  now  you  know  where  we 
are,  or  at  least  you  can  guess  the  coast  on  which  the 
Tonitru  was  wont  to  cruise.  She  had  been  down  south  at 
the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  and  had  only  sailed  three  days 
before.  She  had  been  paying  her  respects  to  the  flagship, 
the  good  old  Princess  Royal.  She  had  entered  Symon's 
Bay  about  a  fortnight  before,  with  much  flaunting  of  signal 
flags,  and  a  deal  of  firing  of  shotless  guns,  but  she  came 
away  from  there  quietly  enough.  The  band  of  the  big 
ship  had  simply  played  "  Good-bye,  sweetheart,  good-bye," 
as  she  steamed  past  them,  the  officers  of  the  big  ship  had 
waved  their  caps,  the  men  had  cheered.  One  man  with 
lungs  more  stentorian  than  his  shipmates  had  sung  out, 

"  Hurrah  !  for  the  Cock  of  the  'Bique." 

Upon  which  a  midshipmite,  for  you  couldn't  call  him  a 
midshipman,  perched  upon  the  topmost  crosstrees  of  the 
brave  little  Tonitru,  had  elevated  his  voice  and  given  vent 
to  a  shrill  but  defiant, 

"  Cock-a-doodle-doo ! " 

And  for  this  liberty  the  commanding-officer  had  bellowed 
an  order  up  to  him  to — 

"  Remain  there  until  you're  told  to  come  down." 

When  the  commander  had  gone  on  shore  to  ask  for  leave 
to  sail, — 

"  You'll  have  dirty  weather,"  said  the  admiral. 

"Ay,  that  is  so,"  was  the  reply. 

"  And  all  in  your  teeth,"  continued  the  admiral. 

The  commander  only  smiled. 

"  Ah  !  I  see,"  laughed  his  senior.  "You  don't  mind  it. 
You're  anxious  to  get  another  slap  at  those  slavers.  Very 
well,  I'm  agreeable." 

The  admiral  was  right  about  the  dirty  weather.  And 
this  was  a  dirty  night.  A  wild  and  dark  and  stormy  night. 
I  verily  believe  that  had  a  landsman  even  been  at  sea  on 
this  night  he  would  have  been — well,  not  afraid,  for  lands- 


The  "  Tonitru.^  135 

men  do  not  know  enough  to  be  afraid,  but  he  would  have 
been  uneasy.  And  well  he  might. 

Let  us  in  imagination,  you  and  1,  reader,  take  a  ramble 
round  the  ship,  as  the  easiest  way  of  realising  in  some 
measure  what  life  is  on  board  a  fighting  cruiser  on  a  night 
like  this. 

Let  us  follow  the  doctor.  He  has  to  go  forward  to  attend 
to  his  duty;  he  has  no  assistant,  for  the  Tonitru  only 
mounts  six  guns,  and  carr  es  but  ninety  men  all  told.  But 
I  assure  you  the  doctor  would  never  think  of  leaving  the 
ward-room  unless  he  were  forced. 

We  find  him  first  in  the  steerage  outside  the  ward-room. 
The  former  is  simply — in  this  ship — an  open  space 
between  decks,  dividing  the  engine-room  from  the  officers' 
mess-room ;  on  to  it  open  the  pantry  and  two  cabins,  and 
in  its  deck  is  the  screw-hatch,  through  which  it  would  not 
be  agreeable  to  tumble.  And  here  is  the  broad  ladder  that, 
standing  athwart  ships,  leads  to  the  deck  above. 

The  doctor  stops  a  minute  to  converse  with  the  engineer 
on  duty.  It  is  positively  pleasant  to  gaze  down  among  the 
engine  gear,  the  glittering  steel  and  polished  brass  work, 
and  the  cheerful  gleaming  fires. 

"  It's  blowing  a  sneezer,  isn't  it  ? "  says  the  engineer, 
wiping  the  perspiration  from  his  brow,  as  he  gazes  upwards 
at  the  doctor,  who  is  holding  on  to  the  sides  of  the  door. 

"  I  should  think  it  is  blowing  a  sneezer,  as  you  call  it," 
says  the  surgeon,  "  and,  worse  luck,  I  have  to  face  it.  Why 
there  isn't  a  passage  right  fore  and  aft  between  decks  in 
a  ship  of  this  size  I  can't  tell.  And  why  a  marine  should 
choose  to  fall  sick  on  a  night  like  this,  and  send  for  me,  is 
a  puzzle,  that  is  all,  simply  a  puzzle.  The  service  is  going 
to  the  bad." 

"Doctor!  doctor!"  says  the  engineer,  shaking  a  giimy 
finger*  up  at  him  ;  "don't  be " 

*  Engineer  officers  do  Hot  wear  kid  gloves  on  duty  in  a  small  ship 
like  the  Cock  o'  the  Bique. 


136  Stanley   Grakamt. 

What  advice  the  engineer  was  about  to  give  the  doctor 
may  never  be  told,  for  just  then  the  saucy  Tonitru  ships 
a  sea  which  fills  her  decks,  and  takes  the  liberty  of  pouring 
down  the  ladder. 

"  Wet  to  the  skin,"  says  the  surgeon,  shaking  himself  as 
a  duck  does  when  it  treads  the  water  and  waggles  its  wings. 
"  Now  I'm  off.  I  can't  be  worse  and  I  can't  be  wetter." 

"  Good-bye,"  says  the  other.  "  Don't  be  long  :  I've  got 
a  couple  of  yams  in  here  roasting." 

"  Yams  ! "  cried  the  doctor,  his  eyes  sparkling.  "  Well, 
I  know  we  have  butter  in  our  mess,  badly  found  and  all  as 
we  are.  Here's  off." 

He  buttons  his  coat  up  and  makes  for  the  ladder.  The 
ladder  seems  to  make  for  him  at  the  same  time,  and  he 
finds  himself  floundering  on  top  of  it  with  a  badly-barked 
shin.  No  sooner  on  than  he  would  have  been  off  again  had 
he  not  caught  the  rope  railing  ;  then  he  seems  to  hang  head 
down  for  about  five  seconds,  and  as  the  vessel  rights  he 
makes  a  step  forward,  meaning  to  walk,  but  it  is  a  run,  or 
rather  a  running  scramble,  and  thus  he  gains  the  top,  and 
carefully  withdraws  the  hatch,  and,  watching  his  oppor- 
tunity, steps  carefully  oyer  the  board  that  has  been  shipped 
to  keep  out  the  seas,  quickly  recloses  the  hatch,  and  stands 
for  a  moment  ind  cided,  if,  indeed,  you  can  call  it  standing, 
for  he  is  clutcl  ing  wildly  at  top  of  the  companion  and 
swaying  about  like  a  drunken  man.  He  gasps  for  breath, 
and  wonders  which  is  the  lee  side.  He  hardly  knows  al 
first,  the  wind  is  so  far  aft. 

The  sails  which  he  can  just  dimly  descry  are  bellowing 
full,  emitting  many  a  roar  and  many  a  thud  as  the  wind 
threatens  every  moment  to  rend  them  into  rattling  ribbons. 

The  doctor  goes  down  to  the  lee  side  at  last,  much  in  the 
same  graceful  way  that  a  person  who  has  never  worn 
skates  before  glides  over  a  piece  of  ice,  but  he  brings  up  by 
the  shrouds  with  only  a  bruised  shoulder,  and  so  far  he  is 
safe.  This  is  the  worst  part  of  the  journey. 


A   Stormy  Night.  137 

"  Hush  1 "  cry  the  seething,  foaming  waves  close  to  his 
ear.  So  low  down  is  the  bulwark  that,  incautiously  putting 
his  arm  over,  with  another  little  lurch  his  arm  is  buried  in 
the  water  up  to  the  elbow. 

"  What  a  fool  I  was  !  "   says  the  doctor  to  himself. 

"  Hush  !  hush — sh — sh  ! "  cries  the  boiling  sea,  as  if  it 
had  some  mighty  secret  on  its  mind,  and  was  just  going  to 
tell  it. 

"  I  believe,"  continues  the  doctor,  talking  aloud — why, 
his  voice  would  not  have  been  heard  in  the  howling  of  that 
tempest  had  he  roared — "  I  believe  I  should  have  been 
better  on  the  weather  side  after  all." 

A  sea  cuts  him  in  the  neck  ;  he  waits  for  the  second,  then 
the  third,  then  there  is  a  lull,  as  he  knew  there  would  be. 
Then  he  makes  the  best  of  his  way  and  scrambles  forward 
till  he  reaches  opposite  the  fore-hatch,  then  pauses  to  glance 
around  him. 

Oh  !  but,  dear  reader  mine,  I  should  fail  if  I  were  to 
attempt  to  convey  to  your  mind  any  notion  of  the  dreary 
blackness  of  the  night  or  the  terrible  hissing  and  howling 
of  the  restless  waves,  mingled  with  the  "  howthering "  of 
the  wind.  There  isn't  a  star,  the  clouds  seem  close  over- 
head, the  staysails  are  in  them,  the  masts  rake  them.  The 
wet  wind  comes  in  gusts  that  make  the  surgeon  gasp  like 
a  drowning  man.  He  looks  awfully  across  or  on  to  the  sea 
— a  sea  that  is  only  indicated  by  the  combing,  curling  waves 
that  here  and  there  glint  white  against  the  ever-shifting" 
horizon.  But  he  can  imagine  all  that  is  not  visible, 
imagine  the  pyramidal  seas  twisted  with  the  wind,  the 
terrible  troughs  between,  and  the  dreary  black  depths  that 
lie  beneath  the  surface  of  the  storm-tossed  ocean. 

He  shudders,  and  is  fain  to  cast  his  eyes  forward  to  catch 
a  glimmer  of  light  from  the  fox'le.  There  is  comfort  in  that, 
comfort  even  in  the  yellow  light  of  the  dead-eyes  that 
shimmer  up  through  the  slippery  deck. 

The  doctor  reaches  his  journey's  end  at  last  by  rolling 


138  Stanley   Grahame. 

down  the  forehatch  ladder  all  in  a  heap.       He  isn't  put 
about  a  single  bit. 

"  This  is  precisely  the  way  I  expected  to  arrive,"  he  says, 
laughing,  to  the  carpenter,  who  helps  him  to  rise.  Then 
the  doctor  goes  to  the  sick  man's  cot,  and  having  done  what 
he  could  for  him,  thinks  he  won't  go  aft  again  without 
visiting  the  engineer's  berth.  There  is  a  song  going  on 
there,  and  he  stands  in  the  doorway  holding  back  the  curtain 
and  smiling  until  it  is  finished.  He  even  joins  in  the 
chorus,  and  a  rattling  one  it  is — 

"Then  come  along  with  me  to  Scotland,  dear, 
We  never  mair  shall  roam." 

And  so  on  ad  libitum. 

"Ho!  ho!"  says  the  doctor,  when  the  song  is  ended, 
"  and  so  you  are  here,  Stanley  Grahame.  We  thought 
you  had  fallen  overboard,  and  I'd  just  come  forward  to  visit 
the  ship's  tailor  to  see  about  a  bit  of  crape  for  our  caps  and 
sword-hilts,  and  your  little  mite  of  a  townie  MacDermott 
has  been  crying  about  you,  or  pretending  to,  for  that  is 
more  his  form.  And  I've  had  the  boy  Green  searching  the 
ship  for  you." 

"  Your  loblolly  ?  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  ! "  laughs  the  second 
engineer. 

"  Yes,  Snade,  my  loblolly." 

"Well,"  says  Stanley,  laughing,  "we  are  just  going  to 
have  another  song  and  then  I'm  wrth  you." 

"  But  I  say,  though,"  adds  the  surgeon,  "  there  are  yams 
for  supper." 

"  Yams  !  Yams  ! " 

Both  Stanley  and  Snade  spring  to  their  feet.  There  was 
no  more  thought  about  the  song. 

"  Come  along,  both  of  you,  you  are  right  welcome  to 
our  mess,  Snade,  so  don't  hang  fire." 

Round  the  little  ward-room  table  of  the  Tonilni,  about 
an  hour  afterwards,  a  right  merry  crew  of  eight  were 


Yams  for  Supper.  139 

gathered,  discussing  with  many  a  friendly  joke  and  laugh 
a  meal  of  yams  and  melted  butter. 

A  yam  is  a  kind  of  very  large  potato,  and,  my  dear  boy 
readers,  if  you  have  never  eaten  roast  yam  and  butter, 
I  sincerely  hope  you  may  live  till  you  do. 

Little  MacDermott  the  midshipmite's  face  was  all 
a-pucker  with  fun  and  mischief.  I'm  sure  he  had  a  deal 
more  than  his  share,  because  he  sat  between  the  doctor  and 
Stanley  Grahame,  and  whenever  Stanley  looked  the  other 
way  he  helped  himself  to  a  fork-load  off  his  plate  and 
winked  to  the  doctor,  and  whenever  the  doctor  happened 
to  turn  round  to  speak  to  any  one,  little  mite  Mac  helped 
himself  off  the  doctor's  plate  and  winked  to  Stanley.  Then 
he  would  say, 

"  I  say,  men,  though,  ain't  this  yam  scrumptious  ?  " 

It  was  no  easy  matter  sitting  at  the  table  at  all,  I  can  tell 
you.  These  young  officers  had  got  themselves  wedged  in, 
in  all  sorts  of  intricate  shapes ;  some  had  their  knees 
against  the  table,  one  gentleman  positively  had  a  leg  on  it, 
but  really  it  was  not  a  night  for  them  to  stand  on  the  order 
of  their  sitting. 

"Doctor,"  said  little  Mac,  "don't  you  think  I'm  fading 
fast  ?  " 

"  I  think  the  yam  is,"  replied  the  doctor. 

"  But  really  now,  dear  doctor,  don't  you  think  I'd  be 
better  of  some  fruit  and  rest — medical  comforts,  you 
know  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  bother,"  said  the  doctor.  "  Gentlemen,"  he 
continued,  standing  up  and  swaying  about  as  if  he  had 
been  set  on  wires,  "  I  have  observed  for  some  time  that 
you  all  look  somewhat  pale,  fading  away  in  fact.  If  I  could 
get  round  the  table,  a  thing  which  is  quite  impossible  under 
the  circumstances,  I  would  feel  all  your  pulses  turn  about, 
and  I'm  sure  I  would  find  that  they  called  aloud  fol 
medical  comforts." 

"  Hurrah  !  "  from  Mac. 


140 


Stanley  Gra/tame. 


"  Mac,"  said  the  surgeon,  "  if  you're  not  quiet  I'll  pull 
your  ears. 

"Well,  gentlemen,  it  happens  that  ihs  fruit  is  positively 
spoiling,  and  there  isn't  a  sick  man  in  the  ship  except 
a  marine,  who  is  suffering  from  the  effects  of  two  days  on 
shore,  and  whose  leave  I  have  stopped  for  two  months. 
So  I  will  prescribe  for  you  a  bunch  of  bananas,  some 


grapes,   and  a   dish   of  mangoes.      Steward,    call  the  boy 
Green." 

This  boy  Green,  this  loblolly  boy  of  the  doctor's,  was 
somewhat  of  a  character  in  his  way.  I'm  not  going  to 
describe  him  very  minutely  at  present,  he  will  develop  as 
the  story  goes  on.  When  he  appeared  in  the  doorway, 
touching  his  hat  with  a  half-deferential  bob  of  his  head, 


The  Boy  Green.  141 

"  Sir  to  you,"  said  the  boy  Green. 

He  was  dressed  as  a  second-class  be  ?f  the  truth  were 
told  he  was  in  some  matters  a  very  second-class  boy ;  he 
was  round-faced,  squarely  built — not  lubberly,  mind.  The 
boy  Green  was  fairly  well-built  and  as  hard  as  a  ring  bolt, 
in  fact  looked  as  though  he  knew  how  to  take  good  care  of 
himself;  he  was  smart  and  active — when  he  pleased. 

But  his  one  crowning  peculiarity  was  that  when  he 
looked  at  you  he  seemed  to  sneer.  This  got  him  into  many 
a  row.  He  was  constantly  getting  smacked  on  the  ear  by 
the  cook  and  the  steward,  and  used  to  retaliate  with 
belaying-pins,  broom-handles,  or  saucepan-lids. 

He  was  constantly  being  ordered  to  get  his  hair  cut  by 
the  officers ;  not  that  he  wanted  it — it  was  so  short  through 
frequent  applications  of  the  scissors  as  to  resemble  a 
barber's  block.  The  hair-cutting  was  a  punishment. 

Just  a  word  or  two  about  the  boy  Green.  He  was 
a  London  Yankee  boy,  having  come  to  London  from  New 
York  as  a  stowaway,  thence  found  his  way  to  a  receiving- 
ship,  and  afterwards  to  H.M.S.  Tonilni,  where  he  was 
speedily  elevated  to  the  proud  dignity  of  loblolly  boy 
because  he  was  no  use  on  deck.  But  at  the  first  muster 
by-open-list,  a  ceremony  of  great  pomp  on  board  a  man-of- 
war,  when  every  one  fre>m  the  commander  downwards 
must  file  past  and  answer  to  his  name,  the  admiral  stopped 
the  boy  Green,  and  asked  him  what  or  whom  he  was 
sneering  at. 

"  Ain't  a-sneering  at  you,  I  guess,"  said  the  boy. 

"What  are  this  boy's  antecedents?"  asked  the  com- 
mander of  the  paymaster. 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  "  sneered  the  boy  Green.  "  I  never  had 
a  father  nor  mother,  let  alone  an  auntie." 

"Quartermaster,"  said  the  commander,  "let  that  boy 
have  his  hair  cut." 

And  from  that  day  to  th:s  boy  Green  was  continually 
having  his  hair  cut. 


142  Stanley   Grahame. 

Now  this  boy  appeared  in  the  doorway,  and  obeying  his 
master's  orders,  retired  again  to  fetch  ihe  fruit. 

"  Is  this  all  that  is  left  of  that  splendid  bunch  of 
bananas  ?  "  asked  the  doctor,  when  he  came  back. 

"  Guess,"  said  the  boy,  "  the  rats  has  been  a-goin'  in  for 
medical  comforts  ;  and  why  shouldn't  they  ?  " 

"  Silence,  you  young  rascal ! "  roared  the  surgeon 
"  Silence  !  I  say.  Go  and  get  your  hair  cut." 

The  boy  took  off  his  hat  and  rubbed  his  block  sympathis- 
ingly.  Then  he  turned  to  go,  but  speedily  turned  round 
again. 

"  Which  I  were  a-going  to  say  summut,"  he  said. 

"  Well,  then,  what  is  it  ?  Here  is  a  banana  for  you,  but 
I  hate  a  pilferer." 

"So  do  I,"  said  the  boy,  peeling  and  swallowing  that 
banana  at  two  mouthfuls.  Then  he  added,  slowly, 

"  Which  I  guess  I  did  hear  the  officer  of  the  watch 
report  to  the  captain  '  a  light  on  the  lee  bow,'  and  that  it 
must  be  the  slave  dhow  we  let  slip  yesterday." 

"Hurrah  !"  cried  everybody  round  the  table. 

"  She  means  fighting,"  said  the  second  master,  "  if  she  is 
put  to." 

"That  she  will,"  said  another. 

"Oh,  dear,  dear!  whatever  would  my  mother  say?" 
cried  little  mite  Mac,  making  pretence  to  cry.  "Her 
darlingest  boy  too.  Doctor,  I'm  going  on  the  sick-list.  Do 
put  me  on,  there's  a  dear  old  doc." 

The  boy  Green  was  in  his  glory  at  even  the  remote 
prospect  of  a  fight  with  a  dhow,  and  found  his  way  forwaid, 
as  soon  as  he  had  filled  his  pockets  with  cold  potatoes  and 
ham  from  the  pantry,  to  tell  the  cook  that  he  felt  sure  a 
ball  would  smash  his  (the  cook's)  leg,  and  of  the  joy  and 
pleasure  he  would  feel  in  "  helping  "  the  doctor  to  cut  it  off 
and  dress  the  stump. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

SVNKISE    ON    THE   SEA- A    SAIL    ON  THE    WEATHER 
BOW-CLEARING  FOR  ACTION— THE  FIGHT. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

SUNRISE    ON    THE    SEA — A    SAIL  ON  THE  WEATHER  BOW CLEAR- 
ING   FOR    ACTION THE    FIGHT. 

MORNING  broke,  and  clouds  and  sky  and  wind  and 
sea  all  combined  gave  promise  of  finer  weather, 
not  to  say  a  glorious  day.  Stanley  Grahame  had  been  up 
betimes.  His  mind  had  become  possessed  of  the  idea,  how 
formulated  he  could  not  tell,  that,  in  some  way  or  other,  the 
sturdy  two-masted  dhow  that  they  had  lately  given  chase  to, 
but  lost  with  the  fall  of  night,  would  have  something  to  do 
with  his  future  life,  or,  at  all  events,  be  in  some  way  con- 
nected with  his  interests.  For  Stanley  was  imbued  with  a 
little  of  that  strange  superstition  which  is  never  wholly 
absent  from  the  minds  and  characters  of  those  whose  early 
lives  have  been  spent  among  the  wild  mountain  scenery  of 
romantic  Scotland.  And  strange  it  is,  but  true,  that  these 
presentiments  are  sometimes — nay,  often,  followed  by  the 
very  events  which  they  forebode.  Stanley  was  up  and 
treading  the  deck  long  before  the  sun  appeared.  The  storm 
was  over  to  all  intents  and  purposes.  The  wind  still  blew 
down  in  gusts,  but  there  were  long  lulls  between  each  blast 
that  spoke  volumes  to  the  experienced  sailor.  The  sea  still 
fretted  and  chafed  and  foamed,  but  the  waves  that  had  been 
hills  high  were  now  but  houses  high,  and  the  good  ship  took 
on  board  no  more  water. 

Then  up  arose  the  sun,  its  coming  heralded  by  long  strips 
of  amber  and  crimson  clouds. 

"  Up  leapt  the  sun  out  of  the  sea."  Nay,  reader,  these 

TO 


146  Stanley  Grahame. 

are  no  words  of  mine.  1  have  spent  years  cruising  in 
tropical  waters,  and  I  never  yet  saw  the  sun  leap  all  at  once 
up  out  of  the  sea  in  the  morning,  nor  sink  as  suddenly  at 
setting  time.  Books  and  stories  written  by  fresh-water 
sailors  tell  you  there  is  no  twilight  in  the  tropics,  that  dark- 
ness follows  sunset  quick  as  a  hand  clap.  Believe  them 
not;  there  always  is  a  short  twilight,  both  morning  and 
evening. 

The  sun  rose,  and  the  gold  and  crimson  clouds  changed 
into  silver,  and  the  clouds  in  the  wefst  that  had  been  grey 
before  turned  scarlet  and  yellow.  The  horizon  was  a  shift- 
ing one  still,  and  every  moment  a  wave  seemed  to  wash 
the  great  red  sun  quite  out  of  existence,  but  soon  it  defied 
them,  and  as  it  mounted  higher  it  was  almost  impossible  to 
look  along  the  pathway  that  his  beams  made  'twixt  the 
Tonitru  and  the  east,  for  the  crimson  glory  dazzled  the  eyes 
and  almost  make  the  brain  reel.  The  still  breaking  wave- 
tops  were  dyed  in  the  light,  and  the  rippled  sides  of 
each  wave  shone  and  glittered  like  "coals  of  living  fire." 

Who  could  look  on  such  a  scene  as  this,  after  a  n:ght  of 
storm  and  tempest,  and  not  believe  that  the  Supreme  Being 
who  ruled  on  high  loved  all  things  here  below  !  From  some 
such  thoughts  as  these  Stanley  Grahame,  standing  by  the 
piain  rigging,  was  roused  by  the  cheerful  voice  of  his 
captain, 

"  What,  Mr.  Grahame  ! "  said  the  latter.  "  Well,  if  I  had 
been  you  I  would  have  stuck  to  my  hammock  for  hours  yet." 

"Good  morning,  sir,"  replied  Stanley,  lifting  hi^s  cap.  "I 
,  don't  usually  get  up  so  soon,  but  I  was  thinking  about  that 
light  we  saw  last  night." 

"  I  know,"  said  Captain  Orbistone  ;  "  and  you  are  longing 
to  stretch  your  legs,  aren't  you  ?  And  have  a  good  look 
round  ?  Oh,  I  know  what  you  merchant  sailors  are.  Well, 
well,  away  aloft  you  go.  But  if  you  do  see  anything,  come 
quietly  down  and  tell  me.  I  think  that  fellow  of  mine  in 
the  foretop  isn't  quite  awake  yet." 


K    HID    HE   ST01>    UNTIL    KE    HAD    KliALllKIJ     1I1H    MAIN    TRUCK. 


A   Sail  on  the   Weather  how.  147 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Stanley,  smiling. 

And  away  he  went  spinning  spider-like  up  the  rigging, 
for  a  wonderful  fellow  was  Stanley  considering  his  great 
length. 

The  storm  of  the  previous  night  had  come  on  quite  sud- 
denly about  dusk,  so  there  had  been  no  time  to  strike  royal 
masts.  And  now,  not  content  with  going  into  the  highest 
top,  Stanley,  when  ratlines  would  take  him  no  farther, 
simply  edged  a  leg  and  an  arm  round  cornerways,  as  it 
were,  and  next  moment  he  was  shinning  up  the  bare  pole, 
very  much  to  Captain  Orbistone's  amusement,  and  the  de- 
light of  the  brave  blue-jackets  around  the  fox'le.  Nor  did 
he  stop  until  he  had  reached  the  main  truck.  Then  he  had 
a  good  look  round. 

He  was  down  on  deck  again  in  less  than  five  minutes. 

"  An  immensely  large  two-masted  dhow,"  he  reported, 
"  on  our  weather  bow." 

"  That  is  she,"  said  the  captain. 

"  Foretop  there  !  "  he  roared. 

"  Ay,  ay,  sir  !  " 

"  See  anything  of  a  sail"  on  the  weather  bow  ?  " 

A  long  pause. 

"  There  is  no  such  thing,  sir." 

"  Where  are  your  eyes  ?  " 

"  Pardon  me,  sir,"  said  Stanley,  "  but  they  would  need  to 
be  good  ones.  She  must  be  a  good  three  miles  off,  and  even 
from  my  position  I  could  only  raise  her  rigging." 

The  captain  said  nothing  more ;  he  paced  the  deck 
rapidly  once  or  twice,  then  sent  Midshipmite  MacDermott 
for  the  engineer  and  the  first-lieutenant. 

Both  officers  appeared,  looking  somewhat  sleepy,  with 
frock  coats  buttoned  suspiciously  near  the  neck. 

"  We  can't  go  a  bit  closer  to  the  wind,  you  see,"  Stanley 
heard  the  lieutenant  say,  after  some  minutes'  conversation 
carried  on  in  a  lower  key.  "She  is  to  windwa'd  of  us 
now,  and  if  the  breeze  holds  she'll  keep  there." 


148  Stanley  Grahame. 

"  Well,  bother  it  all !  "  said  the  captain,  laughing,  "  we'll 
get  up  steam." 

"Ay,  we  can  do  that,"  said  the  lieutenant,  also  laughing. 

It  needed  but  small  encouragement  at  any  time  to  make 
young  Pendragon  laugh.  With  his  round,  beardless  face, 
and  his  fair  curly  hair,  he  looked  little  more  than  a  boy  ; 
and  as,  instead  of  the  usual  French  peak  to  his  cap,  he  had 
one  of  those — now  nearly  out  of  fashion — that  lie  close  over 
the  brow,  the  boyish  appearance  was  still  more  pronounced. 

"  We  can  get  up  steam,  sir,"  he  said ;  "  but  we  mustn't 
forget  two  things,  sir." 

"What  are  they,  Mr.  Pendragon  ?" 

"  The  first  is,"  said  Pen,  as  he  was  always  called  in  the 
mess,  "  that  she  hasn't  seen  us  yet ;  those  chaps  don't  keep 
much  of  an  outlook  from  their  stump-heads." 

"No,"  said  the  captain.  "The  Arab  dress  isn't  quite 
suitable  for  going  aloft.  As  well  send  an  old  woman  aloft 
as  an  Arab.  Well  ?  " 

"  Second  is,"  continued  the  lieutenant,  "  that  she  can  sail 
as  quick  as  we  can  steam — in  this  sea,  anyhow." 

The  captain  bit  his  lip  with  vexation. 

"  You're  right,"  he  said.  "  That  dhow  is  a  bad  one. 
She'll  keep  full  if  she  sees  us,  and  we  know  what  dhows 
can  do  before  the  wind." 

"  Fly,"  said  Pendragon,  emphatically — "  fly,  dance,  dive, 
anything  that  ship  can  do,  and  a  deal  more." 

"Keep  her  close-hauled,  then,  Mr.  Pendragon,  for  a  little 
bit,  and  clear  away  our  old  sixty-four  ;  perhaps  she'll  want 
a  taste  of  that  to  bring  her  to  her  senses." 

"  Perhaps,"  replied  Pendragon,  "  if  we  get  near  enough." 

If  the  dhow  had  not  seen  them  at  the  time  this  conversa- 
tion took  place,  it  was  not  long  ere  she  did.  She  then 
altered  her  course,  keeping  nearer  to  the  wind,  and,  some- 
what to  the  surprise  of  the  officers  of  the  Tonitru,  began 
speedily  to  increase  her  distance  from  the  cruiser. 

And  so  the  morning  sped  away  till  six  bells  in  the  fore- 


Ready  j or  Action.  149 

noon  watch,  then  something  very  fortunate  for  the  Tonitru 
occurred — the  wind  shifted  round  a  point  or  two  against  the 
sun,  and  fell  considerably  in  force. 

The  captain  of  the  Tonitru  rubbed  his  hands,  and  walked 
more  briskly  than  ever.  Pen's  face  was  wreathed  with 
smiles.  Midshipmite  Mac,  his  mother's  "  darlingest  boy," 
went  down  below  to  write  a  letter  home,  the  clerk  prepared 
to  take  shorthand  notes,  the  doctor  went  to  the  dispensary 
and  pulled  out  some  ominous-looking  bundles  of  tow  and 
bandages,  and  a  long  flat  mahogany  box,  not  unlike  a 
duelling-case.  The  dispensary  opened  on  to  the  steerage, 
so  the  doctor  put  the  tow  and  bandages  at  the  corner  of  the 
counter;  then  he  opened  the  case  and  had  a  look  at  some 
awfully  sharp  knives,  which,  with  a  smile  of  grim  satisfac- 
tion, he  placed  "  handy,"  with  a  bottle  of  wine  and  a  bucket 
of  water,  where  neither  would  tumble  down  with  the  ship's 
motion.  Then  he  sent  the  steward  for  Snade,  who  was  oft 
duty,  and  told  him  that  in  the  event  of  a  fight  he  looked  to 
him  for  some  help. 

The  boy  Green  was  here,  there,  and  everywhere,  com- 
forting the  men  by  assuring  them  that  he  knew  as  much 
about  amputating  limbs  as  the  surgeon,  and  that  he  would 
do  all  he  could  for  them. 

Meanwhile  steam  had  been  got  up,  and  the  men  were 
ordered  dinner  an  hour  sooner  than  usual ;  and  by-and-by, 
"  Birr-rr-rr-rr "  went  the  drum,  and  "  birr-rr-rr "  a 
second  time. 

The  men  did  not  wait  for  the  third  rattle ;  in  two  minutes, 
if  not  less,  every  man  Jack  fore  and  aft  was  at  his  post,  and 
there  was  silence  on  the  decks  of  the  Tonitru. 

While  the  men  stand  to  their  guns  awaiting  orders,  and 
all  is  expectancy  and  eagerness  for  the  coming  fray,  let  me 
go  back  a  short  way  in  my  story,  and  tell  you  how  Stanley 
Grahame  came  to  be  on  board  this  gallant  cruiser,  and  in 
what  capacity  he  was  serving.  This  I  can  do  in  a  very  few 
sentences.  So  pray  read  them. 


150  Stanley  Grakame. 

Stanley,  then,  had  quite  fulfilled  all  his  intentions  with 
regard  to  his  visits  to  his  mother  and  sister,  and  across  the 
Atlantic  to  his  uncle.  I  must  leave  you  to  imagine  the  kind 
of  welcome  he  got  from  each. 

He  worked  his  passage  out  to  New  York  accompanied  by 
Cooke,  whom  he  took  along  with  him  to  Beaumont  Park. 
He  told  his  uncle  whither  he  meant  to  go,  namely,  to  the 
shores  of  Africa,  and  Sambo  received  with  joy  the  same  in- 
telligence and  begged  hard  to  be  allowed  to  accompany  the 
young  master,  as  he  called  Stanley.  In  this  matter  Captain 
Mackinlay  was  obdurate.  Perhaps  he  did  not,  even  for 
Stanley's  sake,  wish  to  part  with  so  good  and  faithful  a 
servant.  But  Sambo's  last  words  to  Stanley  were 
these  : 

"  When  you  go,  I  get  rcund  de  ole  gemlam  nicely,  I  do. 
You  see  byme  by.  I  follow  you  plenty  quick." 

Back  to  Glasgow,  where  Stanley  Graha'me  did  not  for- 
get to  visit  his  good  cousin,  and  thence  by  merchant  vessel 
as  second  mate,  Cooke  being  first,  straight  to  Zanzibar. 

Here  he  was  permitted  to  leave  his  vessel,  Cooke,  with 
whom  Stanley  Grahame  was  exceedingly  sorry  to  part, 
returning  in  her,  his  ship  laden  with  sugar  and  spices. 

What  to  do  in  this  strange  wild  city,  Stanley  for  a  time  did 
not  know.  He  was  wandering  aimlessly  one  day  in  the 
suburbs,  when  he  found  two  officers  having  an  altercation 
with  some  half-dozen  spear-armed  savages.  Somali  Indians 
they  were,  but  as  neither  party  could  understand  a  word  the 
others  said,  the  matter  was  likely  to  end  where  it  stood, 
unless  indeed  they  came  to  blows,  which  they  seemed  very 
likely  to. 

Stanley's  knowledge  of  African  dialects,  taught  him  by  his 
dusky  friend  Sambo,  stood  him  in  good  stead  here.  He 
begged  respectfully  to  be  allowed  to  act  as  interpreter,  and, 
his  offices  being  accepted,  he  did  this  so  effectually  that  the 
dispute  was  speedily  settled. 

One     of  these   officers   was    Captain    Orbistone   of  the 


The  First  Shot.  151 

Tonitru,  the  other  his  surgeon,  and  the  matter  ended  thus  : 
Stanley  Grahame  was  appointed,  much  to  his  joy,  inter- 
preter to  the  cruiser  on  whose  decks  we  now  find  him.  If 
the  truth  be  told,  the  captain  thought  he  had  made  a  very 
good  bargain ;  he  soon  found  out  Stanley's  worth  and  the 
sterling  stuff  of  which  he  was  made,  and,  although  only  a 
supernumerary,  Stanley  was  at  his  own  request  drilled  in 
gunnery,  and  in  all  the  duties  of  a  man-o'-war  sailor  officer, 
and  being  a  gentleman,  was  admitted  an  honorary  member 
of  the  ward-room  mess. 

Just  one  word  more.  Stanley  Grahame  had  no  charge 
of  a  watch,  of  course,  nor  any  charge  of  a  boat,  but  he  was 
told  off  to  Midshipmite  Mac's,  and  he  always  went  in  this 
cheeky  little  mite's  boat,  and  he  soon  got  to  find  out  that  he 
and  not  the  mite  was  in  reality  in  charge.  Besides  all  this 
— But  stay,  the  firing  has  begun.  Pendragon  is  stationed 
in  the  foretop  to  watch  the  result  of  each  shot. 

The  first  fell  far  too  short,  nor  did  they  ricochet  along 
the  water  as  they  might  have  done,  to  the  damage  of  the 
dhow's  hull,  had  the  sea  been  smoother. 

Up  till  now  the  man-o'-war  had  been  gaining  on  the  dhow, 
bu-t  that  wily  vessel  changed  her  tactics,  filled,  and  kept 
away,  and  though  this  manoeuvre  brought  her  for  a  time 
closer  to  the  fire  of  the  Tonitru's  great  bow  gun,  she  soon 
profited  by  her  daring  and  got  out  of  reach  entirely. 

Then  the  Tonitru  ceased  firing,  and  the  captain  was  fain 
to  fall  back  upon  the  skill  of  the  engineer. 

"  I  must  get  within  shooting  distance  of  that  dhow,"  he 
told  that  officer,  whom  he  had  sent  for  to  the  bridge. 

"  I'll  do  all  I  can,  sir,"  said  the  engineer,  "  short  of  en- 
dangering our  lives  by  bursting  the  boilers." 

"  That's  a  good  fellow,"  said  the  captain,  "  go  and  do  it. 
No  fear  of  the  boilers." 

Little  Mite  Mac  was  in  the  steerage  as  the  engineer  passed 
down. 

"  I  say,  you  know,"  said  Mac,   "  we  must  get  alongside 


152  Stancey  Grahame. 

that  dhow  somehow.  I'm  full  of  fight.  I'd  like  to  face 
any  number.  Now  suppose  you  tie  down  the  safety  valve 
and  I  come  and  sit  on  it — eh  ?  " 

The  engineer  pinched  his  ear  for  him  and  went  on. 
Then  the  mite  went  away  to  tantalise  the  clerk. 

"  I  wouldn't  be  you  for  the  world,"  said  the  mite. 
"  Fancy  standing  beside  the  captain  all  the  time  of  a  deadly 
battle  and  taking  notes  !  How  your  hand  must  shake  and 
how  your  teeth  must  chatter  all  the  time;  and  then  there 
is  no  chance  of  running  down  below,  you  know,  and  if  you 

happen  to " 

Brrrang ! 

"Another  shot,"  cried    the    mite,    "they're  at  it  again. 
I'm  off.     But  when   t'other   fellow   begins  to  fire  then  I'll 
come  below,  and  finish   the  letter  to   my  own  dear  mum. 
That'll  be  only  dutiful,  you  know." 
Brrrang ! 

Still  another  shot  from  the  Tonitrus  bow  gun.  And 
now  the  doctor,  who  was  standing  on  the  companion  ladder, 
heard  a  distant  echo,  as  it  were. 

"  Shell,"  he  thought ;  "  we  are  firing  shell." 
The  deck  was  not  the  doctor's  place,  but  he  could  not 
now  resist  the  temptation  to  run  up.  No,  that  echo  was 
no  far-off  bursting  shell,  but  the  dhow  had  positively  hove 
to,  cleared  for  action,  and  commenced  to  return  the  fire  of 
Her  Majesty's  cruiser  Tonilru  ! 

The  captain  seemed  incapable  for  the  moment  of  believing 
his  senses.  He  had  run  up  the  rigging  to  make  sure.  The 
men  were  dancing  for  joy,  and  when  a  round  shot  fell  close 
to  the  ship,  Pen,  in  the  foretop,  stretched  both  his  arms  out 
towards  it  in  the  way  a  Frenchman  does  when  welcoming 
a  friend. 

A  few  minutes  after  this  Captain  Orbistone  called  his 
principal  officers  together  on  the  quarterdeck,  and  in  a  few 
brief  sentences  explained  to  them  his  plan  of  attack. 
There  was  no  word  of  defence.  He  knew  his  fellows,  and 


Preparing  to  Board.  153 

before  to-day  he  had  heard  their  cutlasses  and  pikes  clatter- 
ing  in  anger  against  Arab  swords. 

"  We'll  fight  her,"  he  said,  "  in  good  old-fashioned  style.  ' 

"And  glad  of  the  chance,"  said  Pen,  rubbing  his  hands 
in  glee. 

"  Well,  then,  Mr.  Pendragon,  there  is  no  time  for  talk. 
We'll  go  alongside.  Pepper  her  rigging  as  much  as  you 
please  while  we  are  doing  so,  but  remember,  not  a  shot  in 
her  hull.  Get  grappling  gear  ready— kedge  anchors,  any- 
thing." 

"  I  understand  you,  sir,"  said  the  lieutenant,  pausing  just 
a  moment,  "  that  we  are  not  to  fire  into  her  hull." 

"  You  do,  Mr.  Pendragon,"  was  the  reply.  "  I  have  good 
reasons  for  believing  that  this  is  no  common  slave  dhow. 
She  is  too  far  south  for  your  northern  Arab.  She  is  well 
armed,  and  she  has  white  men — Spaniards  probably — on 
board.  Their  intention,  doubtless,  is  to  slip  off  to  Cuba,  if 
they  can." 

"  They  never  will,"  answered  the  lieutenant.  Then,  in 
a  voice  of  command, — 

"  Stand  by  port  and  starboard  guns." 

That  dhow  seemed  to  bear  a  charmed  life  for  the  next 
ten  or  fifteen  minutes,  during  which  time  the  cruiser  was 
"  going  for  her,"  as  little  Mac  called  it,  at  full  speed.  Not 
a  shot  save  one  struck  her.  That  one  tore  through  her 
bulwarks  right  aft,  and  considering  the  confusion  it  created 
must  have  done  deadly  execution.  The  dhow  fired  so  well 
that  the  Tonitru  s  rigging  was  damaged,  and  more  than  one 
man  borne  bleeding  below.  The  former  now  began  to 
divine  the  intention  of  the  cruiser,  for  she  ceased  firing, 
and  our  fellows  on  the  Tonitru  could  see  them  busily 
engaged  spreading  along  the  top  of  the  bulwarks  those 
horrible  nets,  a  kind  of  defence  against  boarders,  that  has 
cost  us  the  life  of  many  a  gallant  man  in  these  seas.  But 
the  Tonitru  was  prepared  for  everything.  All  hatches  were 
battened  down  that  could  hr  conveniently  closed.  Our 


154  Stanley  Grahame. 

brave  men  needed  no  back  door  for  escape.  They  meant 
to  win,  or  die  at  their  posts. 

I  do  not  think  that  even  Captain  Orbistone  had  ever  seen 
so  large  a  dhow,  certainly  not  one  so  crowded  with  armed 
men.  Mostly  fierce-looking  Arabs  they  were — tall,  spare, 
wild  fellows,  stripped  half-naked,  their  long  dark  hair 
knotted  up  behind  their  heads,  and  brandishing  spear  and 
sword  and  gun. 

There  was  on  that  dhow  a  fire  burning  amidships,  and 
on  it  a  cauldron  of  immense  size.  It  was  filled  with  boiling 
cocoa-nut  oil,  and  it  was  intended  to  be  used  in  repelling 
British  boarders. 

But  Pen  had  seen  it  and  reported  the  matter  to  the 
captain,  and  for  a  minute  or  two  way  was  stopped  on  the 
Tonitru. 

"Plant  a  shot  there"  said  the  captain,  quietly,  to  his  best 
gunner,  whom  he  had  taken  on  the  bridge  to  speak  to. 

The  man  went  away  with  a  heart  swelling  with  manly 
pride.  "  Heaven  nerve  my  hand,"  he  said  to  himself. 

The  gunner  took  aim,  giving  directions  as  he  did  so  to 
the  men  with  one  arm.  Bar  the  noise  of  the  hand-spikes 
nothing  was  heard,  for  no  one  moved  on  deck,  so  intense 
was  the  excitement.  Now  the  gunner  is  leaning  forward 
lanyard  in  hand, — 

"  There  is  silence  deep  as  death, 
And  the  boldest  holds  his  breath, 
For  a  time — " 

Crash  !  goes  the  armstrong.  In  the  very  centre  of  that 
dhow's  deck  lands  the  shot,  and  well  it  does  its  deadly 
work.  The  Arabs  are  hoist  with  their  own  petard.  There 
is  now  no  more  chance  of  their  deluging  our  brave  fellows 
with  boiling  oil. 

But  see,  smoke  and  flame  begin  to  rise  from  the  dhow's 
deck,  while  down  on  her,  like  bloodhound  thirsting  for  his 
prey,  rushes  the  Torit'fny 


On  Board!  15 s 

There  is  no  time  to  lose.  There  is  fire  on  the  dhow, 
and  those  armed  Arabs  seem  somehow  to  be  dancing 
among  it,  and  the  thought  that  that  fire  may  extend  below 
among  the  poor  manacled  slaves  nerves  every  arm,  steels 
every  heart,  on  board  the  cruiser,  from  the  captain  down- 
wards. 

She  is  alongside ;  she  rasps,  she  bumps  against  the  dhow  ; 
the  dhow's  bulwarks  crash  and  break  with  the  violence  ot 
the  collision.  Everything  is  done  quickly  but  quietly  by 
our  fellows.  The  ships  are  lashed  together,  spears  are 
thrust  through  the  network  at  our  men,  and  shots  are  fired ; 
but  spear-heads  are  smashed,  shots  are  returned  with 
terrible  precision,  and  the  network  itself  is  hacked  in  pieces 
by  our  cutlasses.  Then  there  is  a  ringing  British  cheer, 
and,  defying  all  opposition,  in  one  moment  more  we  are  on 
board. 


II     LAUS.     IT 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

STORMING  THE  POOP— VICTORY— THE  'TWEEN  DECKS 
OF  A  SLAVE  DHOW— CAPTAIN  MACDERM077  OF 
THE  "  SEYD  PASHA:' 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

STORMING    THE     POOP — VICTORY THE     'TWEEN      DECKS     OF      A 

SLAVE  DHOW CAPTAIN  MACDERMOTT  OF  THE  "  SEYD  PASHA." 

^T^HE  fight  raged  most  fiercely  around  and  on  the  poop 
JL  of  the  fighting  dhow.  Thither  the  officers  and 
probably  the  owners  of  the  vessel  had  betaken  themselves. 
Terrible  as  it  seems  to  the  minds  of  those  who  think  of  it, 
they  had  hoisted  two  guns  up  to  this  place,  and,  loading 
them  with  shrapnel,  had  commenced  firing  indiscriminately 
on  those  below,  regardless  how  many  of  their  own  poor 
fellows  they  slaughtered,  so  long  as  there  fell  by  their  side 
the  men  of  the  Tonitru. 

It  was  a  dastardly  deed,  and  one  that  well  merited  the 
punishment  that  followed. 

It  hardly  needed  the  word  of  command,  the  captain's 
voice  shouting  high  over  the  din  of  battle, 

"  Storm  the  poop.     Up,  lads,  up  !  " 

The  poop  was  a  very  tall  one,  and  the  ladders  leading 
thereto  had  been  drawn  up. 

Our  brave  fellows  fought  their  way  aft.  Nothing  could 
stop  their  wild  rush.  Pendragon  was  there  at  their  head  ; 
he  had  outstripped  even  his  commander  in  his  eagerness  to 
gain  the  poop.  Stanley  Grahame  was  there  too ;  he  used 
his  cutlass  with  both  hands,  as  Highlanders  in  olden 
times  used  the  claymore.  He  was  as  tall  as  the  tallest 
Arab  there,  and,  fine  swordsmen  though  they  are,  the 
enemy's  guards  were  borne  down  before  the  fury  of  his 


160  Stanley  Grahame. 

charge,  tneir  swords  bent  or  broken  as  if  they  had  been 
mere  straws. 

Will  it  be  believed  that  close  by  his  side  fought  little 
Mite  Mac,  dirk  in  hand  ?  I'm  not  sure  that  he  did  not  stick 
very  close  indeed  to  his  tall  countryman's  side.  He  was 
hardly  noticed  in  the  fray,  yet  many  a  lunge  he  gave  with 
that  dirk  of  his  nevertheless.  Nor  did  his  tongue  cease  to 
wag  the  while,  and,  being  a  shrill  treble,  it  was  pretty  well 
heard. 

"  Bravo,  Stanley  !  "  he  would  cry ;  or  "  Well  done,  old 
townie  ;  "  or  "  I  gave  it  to  that  one." 

Once  indeed  he  was  heard  to  quote  the  words  of  Scotland's 
great  wizard,  Walter  Scott,  and  to  shout, 

"  Charge.  Chester,  charge, 
On,  Stanley,  on  !  " 

The  lack  of  ladders  seemed  little  drawback  to  our  blue 
jackets.  They  scrambled  up,  they  pitched  each  other  up, 
defying  Arab  spears  and  swords,  those  in  the  rear  doing 
terrible  execution  with  the  deadly  Colt  revolver. 

Stanley's  long  legs  befriended  him ;  he  was  up  and  had 
cleared  a  space  before  even  Pendragon.  An  Arab  made  a 
vicious  lunge  at  him  as  he  turned  round  to  assist  Mac  up, 
for  that  midshipmite  was  positively  crying  wTith  vexation. 
A  bullet  from  Captain  Orbistone's  revolver  foiled  the  Arab's 
intention ;  he  fell  headlong  from  the  poop. 

Then  more  quickly  than  I  can  describe  it  the  battle  came 
first  to  a  climax,  and  then  to  a  close.  Every  Arab  on  the 
poop  that  was  not  slain  threw  himself  headlong  into  the 
sea  and  became  food  for  the  sharks — those  slimy  monsters 
that  never  fail  to  sniff  blood  from  afar,  whether  it  be  that 
of  innocent  seals  in  Greenland  seas,  or  the  blood  that 
trickles  through  the  scupper-holes  of  a  battle-deck  in  more 
temperate  climes. 

Every  Arab  preferred  instant  death  to  the  dishonour  of 
capture  and  a  pirate's  doom  at  the  yard-arm ;  only  some 


Victory  !  1 6 1 

cowardly  white  men   remained   on   board,  and  these  were 
speedily  disarmed  and  made  prisoners. 

The  fight  began  at  twelve  o'clock  by  the  sun  ;  by  half- 
past  twelve — that  is,  in  one  brief  half  hour — the  carnage 
was  finished,  the  battle  lost  and  won. 

There  was  no  cheering  over  the  fallen  foe.  Many  of  our 
men  were  wounded,  some  lay  slain.  Not  all  of  the  wounded, 
however,  cared  to  succumb,  but  stood  pale  and  bleeding 
against  bulwark  or  poop  or  mast. 

The  Arab  dead  were  laid  reverently  side  by  side  and 
covered  with  their  own  blood-red  flag;  ours  were  carried 
on  board  and  laid  in  state  till  near  the  eventide ;  then 
slowly  and  solemnly  the  captain  himself  read  the  service, 
and  one  by  one  they  were  committed  to  the  deep.  During 
prayers  more  than  one  brave  fellow  had  occasion  to  cross 
his  eyes  with  the  sleeve  of  his  blue  jacket,  for  messmates 
were  lying  there  still  and  quiet  who  never  more  would 
speak  or  laugh  again. 

"  Ah  !  Bill,"  said  one  honest  tar,  and  his  eyes  did  look 
red,  "  I  can't  get  over  poor  Fred's  death.  He  were  such  a 
happy-go-lucky  larky  chap,  and  there  he  lies " 

He  turned  away  quickly  and  said  no  more. 

Some  great  navy  captain  said  that  the  most  solemn 
moment  to  him  was  the  shgrt  silence  that  precedes  a  sea 
fight,  when  every  man  is  standing  to  his  gun  or  in  his 
quarters,  when  lips  move  in  prayer  that  may  never  pray 
again,  and  thoughts  are,  mayhap,  turned  to  the  far-off  home 
in  England  by  men  who  may  visit  them  never,  never  more. 
But,  the  heat  and  fury  of  the  fight  being  over,  the  washing 
and  cleansing  of  the  decks  and  the  ship's  stained  sides,  and 
the  putting  of  everything  as  nearly  shipshape  as  it  was 
before,  the  attending  to  the  wounds,  often  ghastly  in  the 
extreme,  of  the  men  who  have  fallen,  and  the  impressive 
service  over  the  dead — these  are  things  which,  if  but  once 
witnessed,  are  but  little  likely  to  be  forgotten. 

From  confessions  made  by  those  white  men  prisoners,  it 

ii 


1 62  Stanley  Grahame. 

turned  out  that  Captain  Orbistone  was  right  in  his  surmise 
about  the  dhow.  She  was  no  ordinary  northern  slaver 
Nor  was  this  her  first  cruise;  for,  slave-laden  to  the  hatches, 
she  had  twi'ce  before  run  a  living  cargo  from  Zanzibar  and 
Pemba  to  an  out-of-the-way  port  on  the  eastern  shore  ot 
Madagascar,  where  a  large  three-masted  ship  was  ready  to 
receive  them.  Not  directly,  however,  mind  you.  No,  that 
lordly  ship  had  cleared  from  a  respectable  American  port 
with  all  her  papers  signed  and  right ;  she  was  a  legitimate 
trader.  The  cargoes  of  slaves  run  by  this  dhow  had  not  as 
yet  soiled  her  decks,  not  a  slave  iron  would  be  found  on 
her  if  searched,  not  an  extra  bag  of  rice;  the  slaves  were 
housed  on  shore  miles  and  miles  from  the  place  where  this 
legitimate  trader  lay,  and  as  soon  as  there  were  enough  of 
them  got  together  to  make  the  voyage  pay,  then  she  would 
lup  anchor,  and,  slipping  round,  ship  them  all  in  one  night 
and  set  sail  before  sunrise. 

The  fire  that  had  commenced  on  board  the  dhow  was 
speedily  extinguished ;  almost  before  the  battle  was  over 
indeed  our  fellows  were  playing  on  it  with  the  hose,  the 
donkey  engine  having  been  rigged  for  the  express  purpose. 

Next  the  dhow's  hatches  were  thrown  open  as  well  as 
those  of  the  Tonitru,  and  on  the  latter  ship  everything  was 
got  ready  both  on  the  upper  deck  and  on  the  'tween  decks 
for  the  reception  of  a  portion  of  the  unhappy  slaves  that 
were  cramped  and  crowded  down  in  the  hold  of  the 
dhow. 

Mercy  on  us !  my  mind  sickens  even  now  as  I  think  on 
the  sight  that  presented  itself,  on  first  entering  the  hold  of 
that  dismal  dhow.  Four  hundred  and  thirty  human  beings 
were  there  stowed,  living,  dead,  and  dying.  Do  not  be 
afraid,  reader,  I  will  not  attempt  to  describe  in  anything 
like  detail  the  wretchedness  and  extreme  misery  of  their 
situation.  I  could  not  if  I  tried.  But  when  you  crawled 
down  the  ladder  first,  fully  a  minute  elapsed  ere  you  could 
see  about  you,  yet  during  that  minute  your  ears  were 


The  Slaves  in  the  Hold.  163 

assailed  with  a  chorus  of  low  moaning,  despairing  moaning, 
as  from  human  beings  sick  in  pain  and  in  grief.  The 
sound,  or  some  of  the  sounds,  if  set  to  music  would  begin 
on  one  note,  run  quaveringly  up  half  a  tone,  then  mourn- 
fully end  on  the  commencing  note.  It  put  one  in  mind  of 
passages  in  Dante's  Inferno. 

Well,  but  as  soon  as  you  began  to  see,  and  got  your  back 
to  the  light  that  streamed  down  the  open  hatch,  you  per- 
ceived a  dense  multitude  of  black  bodies  seated  back 
towards  you  on  the  deck,  their  heads  all  thrown  over  their 
shoulders  and  gazing  at  you  with  eyes  that  rolled  horribly 
white  in  the  uncertain  light.  The  expressions  on  some  of 
the  faces  were  those  of  terror  and  wonderment  combined, 
or  dull  apathy  in  some,  and  hope  apparently  in  others. 
There  was  a  little  lane  along  the  centre  railed  off  with 
strong  bamboos,  and  walking  along  that  lane,  as  soon  as 
your  eyes  became  used  to  the  gloom,  you  could  not  help 
seeing  that  there  were  many  slaves  there  whose  sorrows 
had  for  ever  ceased,  and  that  the  heads  of  the  dead  were 
pillowed  on  the  bodies  or  the  limbs  of  the  living. 

I  am  not  writing  for  effect,  else  I  would  describe  the 
appearance  most  of  those  creatures  presented  when  taken 
or  helped  on  deck.  I  could  do  so  graphically  because  I 
should  do  so  truthfully,  but  I  will  not  harrow  the  reader's 
feelings.  What  has  often  hurt  my  own  feelings  to  notice 
when  slaves  were  being  liberated  from  the  hands  of  their 
captors,  was  the  signs  of  recent  blows  and  brutal  treatment 
on  the  bodies  of  both  sexes,  the  marks  and  weals  that 
bamboo  canes  had  left,  swollen  jaws  and  eyes  and  curly 
hair  matted  with  blood.  Yes,  slavery  as  carried  on  sub 
rusa  even  while  I  pen  these  lines  is  a  fearful  thing.  All 
honour  to  those  nations,  like  the  British  and  French,  who 
do  all  they  can  to  wipe  so  foul  a  blot  from  the  history  of 
the  world. 

A  large  proportion  of  the  slaves  were  transferred  on 
board  the  Tonffru.  The  rest  were  left  on  the  upper  dr  ck 


1 64  Stanley  Grahame. 

of  the  dhow  until  her  hold  was  thoroughly  cleaned,  disin- 
fected, and  dried  by  the  busy  hands  of  our  own  Kroomen. 

These  Kroomen  are  natives  of  Sierra  Leone,  sturdy,  tall, 
black  fellows,  who  take  service  in  out-going  coast-bound 
man-of-war  ships,  and  are  left  again  at  their  own  homes 
when  the  commission  is  over.  They  are  brave,  hardy,  and 
intelligent,  and  make  very  good  sailors.  They  must  not  be 
confounded,  however,  with  the  Lascars  of  our  Indian  ships. 
One  good  Krooman  is  worth  a  dozen  Lascars.  I  have 
small  respect  for  these  latter.  They  are  called  Lascars, 
but  the  same  letters  would  bear  transposing  thus,  Lascars 
— R  a  s  c  a  1  s. 

Apropos  of  these  Lascars  I'll  tell  you  a  little  anecdote. 
There  is  really  not  much  in  it,  but  it  may  serve  in  some 
measure  to  banish  any  feeling  of  depression  my  short 
description  of  the  'tween  decks  of  that  slaver  may  have 
induced. 

I  was  coming  up  the  Red  Sea  one  time  in  a  P.  and  O. 
boat.  I  was  an  invalid  passenger  from  the  east  coast  of 
Africa,  and  I  happened  to  be  forward  on  deck  when  the 
second  officer  ordered  the  Lascars  up  for  duty.  With 
them  came  their  own  head  man,  or  captain,  a  tall,  moon- 
raking,  raw-boned  native  of  India.  To  some  angry  remark 
of  the  English  officer  this  Lascar  captain  replied  with  a 
blow  of  his  fist.  The  Englishman,  I  should  tell  you,  was 
short  and  stout — round  faced  at  all  events — more  like  a 
ploughboy  than  a  sailor. 

On  board  a  man-of-war  that  Lascar  captain  would  have 
been  shot  or  flogged,  so  you  may  judge  of  my  surprise  to 
see  the  Britisher  take  off  his  jacket,  pitch  it  over  the 
capstan,  and  go  for  his  man,  like  an  animated  steam- 
hammer.  In  less  than  five  minutes  he  had  given  him  a 
thrashing  that  the  fellow  doubtless  remembers  to  this  day. 
He  ended  by  getting  his  head  in  chancery,  then  threw  the 
fellow  from  him  into  the  lee  scuppers ;  after  that,  as  Scott 
says  of  Roderick  Dhu, 


"Captain"   MacDermott.  165 

"  Unwounded  from  the  dreadful  close, 
But  breathless  all," 

the  Britisher  resumed  his  jacket. 

Everything  being  made  as  comfortable  as  possible  for  the 
slaves  on  both  vessels,  and  the  white  men  slavers  being 
put  in  irons,  Captain  Orbistone  determined  next  morning 
to  make  the  best  of  his  way  to  Zanzibar,  where  the  slaves 
would  be  liberated  and  their  captors  tried  for  their  lives, 
the  indictment  being  "  piracy  on  the  high  seas." 

The  dhow  had  been  in  tow  all  night,  but  now  she  was  to 
have  a  prize  crew  put  on  board,  and  she  would  then  sail 
as  consort  to  the  cruiser. 

Stanley  Grahame  had  hardly  finished  breakfast  when 
the  captain  sent  for  him. 

Stanley's  cheeks  tingled  with  delight  as  his  commander 
complimented  him  on  his  conspicuous  bravery  in  the  fight 
with  the  slaver.  He  then  informed  him  that  he  had  not  a 
competent  officer  to  spare  to  take  charge  of  their  prize,  that 
he  would  willingly  have  appointed  him,  Stanley,  to  the 
duty,  but  that  the  service  would  not  admit  of  his  doing  so, 
and  therefore  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  give  Midshipman 
MacDermott  the  command,  with  Stanley  Grahame  as  sailing 
master  and  factotum. 

"  Are  you  agreeable  to  this  ?  "  said  Captain  Orbistone. 

Stanley  assured  him  he  was  delighted. 

"There,"  said  the  captain,  laughing  and  shaking  hands 
with  him,  "  off  you  bundle,  and  get  your  things  ready.  I'll 
see  that  everything  you  require  for  the  voyage  is  put  on 
board,  and  you'll  have  a  first-rate  prize  crew.  Only," 
added  Captain  Orbistone,  "don't,  if  possible,  lose  sight  of 
us.  But  //you  do,  make  the  best  of  3 our  way  to  Zanzibar  ; 
you  know  the  way  ?  " 

"  Very  well,  indeed,"  said  Stanley. 

"Oh!  by-the-bye,  though,"  said  the  captain,  "should  we 
happen  to  lose  sight  of  each  other  you  may  as  well  call  in 
at  Johanna  on  your  way  up.  I  won't  promise  to  wait  for 


1 66  Stanley  Grahame. 

you  there,  but  I'll  leave  a  message  with  the  consul.     So 
good-bye.     Bon  voyage."  . 

Midshipman  Mac  was  summoned  to  the  cabin  next ;  and 
when  he  returned  and  re-entered  the  ward-room,  it  would 
have  been  difficult  to  say  whether  his  face  were  more  full 
of  impudence  or  importance.  He  had  his  dirk  by  his  side, 
his  best  white  trousers  on,  and  his  very  newest  jacket. 

Pendragon  looked  at  him  as  he  stopped  for  a  moment  in 
the  doorway,  and  he  could  not  help  smiling.  The  doctor 
happened  to  come  up  behind  him  at  the  same  time,  and 
little  Mac  being  in  his  way,  he  simply  caught  him  by  the 
ear  and  led  him  into  the  mess-room. 

"Let  go!"  cried  Mac;  "let  go,  you  ridiculous  old  Saw- 
bones !  You've  no  idea  whom  you  have  got  hold  of." 

"  Midshipmite  Mac,  I  guess,"  said  the  surgeon. 

"Certainly  not!"  replied  the  mite,  drawing  himself  up 
to  his  full  height — about  four  foot  nothing — and  striking  his 
hand  against  the  hilt  of  his  dirk.  "You  are  mistaken, 
Dr.  Slops ;  you  grievously  err,  Sir  Surgeon." 

"Come  along,  Mite,"  said  Pen,  laughing,  "and  finish 
your  feed.  Here's  a  red  herring  with  a  roe  in  it.  We  all 
know  your  weakness  for  a  red  herring  with  a  roe  in  it." 

"How  dare  you  presume,  sir,"  said  little  Mac,  with 
mock  severity,  "  to  call  me  '  Mite ' ;  and  how  dare  you  to 
talk  to  me  about  so  sublunary  a  matter  as  a  red  herring? 
Bah  ! " — here  the  Mite  waved  his  hand  and  turned  his  head 
away — "a  red  herring  with  a  roe  in  it ! 

"Behold  before  you,  gentlemen  !"  he  continued,  strutting 
up  and  down  the  ward-room  on  tiptoe — "  behold  before 
you  Captain  MacDermott,  of  the  British  dhow  Scyd  Pasha  ! 
And  now  I  shall  condescend  to  be  seated.  Mr.  Pendragon, 
I  will  unbend  so  far  as  to  taste  that — that  herring  with  the 
roe  in  it.  Mr.  Grahame,  I  will  trouble  you,  sir,  to  hand 
your  captain  another  cup  of  coffee,  as  the  exigencies  of  duty 
demanded  my  presence  in  our  worthy  commanders  cabin 
ere  I  had  quite  finished  my  matutinal  meal.  And  do  not 


"•Captain"   MacDermott  167 

lorget,  sir,  that  you  are  to  be  on  board  the  Seyd  Pasha — 
my  ship,  sir—  at  seven  bells  on  this  same  forenoon  watch. 
Thank  you,  Mr.  Grahame.  I  have  no  doubt  you  will  obey 
your  captain's  orders,  and  that  we  shall  get  on  very  well 
together.  If  we  do,  I  may  safely  promise  you  that  I  shall 
not  forget  to  report  your  good  conduct  to  the  proper 
quarter." 

"  It's  a  good  thing  I'm  not  going  in  the  Seyd  Pasha  with 
you,  Captain  Mite,"  said  the  doctor. 

"  For   what    reason,    sir  ? "    inquired    Mac.     "  Don't    be 
afraid  to  speak,  Dr.  Jalap." 

"  I'd  jalap  you  !  "  said  the  doctor — "  and  wallop  you,  too  ! 
I  wouldn't  be  two  days  in  the  Seyd  Pasha  before  I  tied  my 
captain,  head  down,  over  a  gun,  and  gave  him  a  breeching." 
"  Below  there  1 "  sung  out  the  navigating  sub-lieutenant, 
lifting  the  hatchway  and  looking  down.  "  Are  you  ready, 
Stanley  ?  " 

"  I'm  all  ready,"  said  Stanley,  pushing  back  his  chair. 
"  Then  just  get  that  young  shaver  under  way,  will  you  ? 
there's  a  good  fellow." 

"Here,  you  Mite!"  cried  the  doctor;  "come  along  smart 
O,  and  pack  your  traps." 

The  doctor  seized  Mite  and  led  him  out  of  the  ward- 
room precisely  as  he  had  led  him  in — by  the  ear.  Captain 
MacDermott  of  the  Seyd  Pasha,  however,  stuck  long  enough 
in  the  doorway,  although  the  doctor  still  held  him  by  the 
ear,  to  say, 

"  Gentlemen,  the  service  is  going  to  the  bad." 
"  Move  on,"  cried  the  doctor. 

And  away  went  the  two  of  them,  leaving  their  messmates 
and  even  the  steward  to  enjoy  the  luxury  of  a  hearty 
laugh. 

When  the  dhow  was  fairly  cast  oft"  from  the  Tonitni  and 
the  great  sails  were  hoisted  up  into  t!  c  wind,  and  the 
first  watch  set,  then  Stanley  Grahame  and  his  boy  captain 
entered  the  saloon  together,  little  Mac  holding  on  to  one  of 


1 68  Stanley  Grahame. 

Stanley's  arms  with    both   his,  and    almost   dancing   with 
delight. 

"  You  dear  old  Stanley,"  he  said.  "  Isn't  it  jolly  to  be 
roving  the  seas  all  by  ourselves  like  this  !  " 

Poor  little  Mac !  he  had  quite  a  boy's  love  for  his  tall 
and  clever  countryman. 

"And  I'm  so  glad,  you  know,"  he  went  on,  "that  the 
captain  didn't  send  old  Surgeon  Slops.  He  is  so  rough, 
and  punches  one  so,  though  he  isn't  half  a  bad  fellow 
either.  But  oh,  Stanley  !  did  you  ever  ?  I  never  !  " 

Captain  Mite's  ejaculations  of  surprise  and  delight  referred 
to  the  furnishing  and  fittings  of  the  dhow's  saloon.  It  was 
large,  roomy,  and  well-lighted,  and  everywhere  about  them 
were  curtains  of  crimson,  magnificent  mirrors,  and  the 
glitter  of  gold  and  silver  and  glass.  Along  the  deck  were 
ranged  low  silken  covered  lounges,  with  small  tables,  also 
very  low,  here  and  there.  The  centre  of  the  room  was 
empty,  the  floor  covered  with  a  thick  soft  carpet ;  one  or 
two  rocking-chairs,  and  one  taller  table  at  the  farther  end. 
of  the  room,  completed  the  furniture.  On  this  table  were 
books  in  the  Spanish  language  and  a  small  guitar,  and 
above  it  an  ebony  arid  gold  cupboard,  with  a  front  of  glass, 
in  which  sparkled  in  bottles  of  cut  crystal  the  rich  coloured 
sherbets  which  the  wealthy  Arabs  use  instead  of  wine. 

"It  is  indeed  a  splendid  saloon,"  said  Stanley;  "and  to 
think  that  those  wretches  lived  in  ease  and  luxury  here 
within  hearing  almost  of  the  groans  and  cries  of  their 
unhappy  victims  in  the  terrible  hold  below." 

But  I  don't  think  that  at  that  moment  our  boy  captain 
was  thinking  about  "those  wretches"  or  "their  unhappy 
victims  "  either.  He  had  helped  himself  to  a  large  glass  of 
sherbet,  and  thrown  himself  back  in  a  rocking  chair,  in 
order  the  more  thoroughly  to  enjoy  it. 

"I  say,  Stanley,"  said  he,  "don't  drone  and  prose  and 
preach  there.  This  sherbet  is  dee-licious.  Come  and  have 
some,  and  we  won't  talk  about  anything  or  even  think 


"Captain"  MacDeimott.  169 

about  anything  but  what  is  pleasant  and  nice.  And  I  do 
hope,  Stan,  that  to-morrow  morning  the  old  Tonitru  won't 
be  anywhere  in  sight.  That  will  be  jolly,  won't  it?" 

Stanley  laughed,  and  sat  down.  Perhaps  he  enjoyed 
the  novelty  of  the  situation  every  bit  as  much  as  the  mite 
did,  though  he  did  not  say  so  much  about  it 


XIV. 


THE  TORNADO— THE   CAPTAIN  SENT  70  BED    70  BE 
OUT  OF  THE  WAV— AN  UNLOOKED-FOR  VISITOR. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE   TORNADO THE   CAPTAIN    SENT   TO   BED   TO   BE   OUT   OF 

THE   WAY AN    UNLOOKED-FOR   VISITOR. 

THE  sun  seemed  red  with  anger  as  it  glared,  for  the 
last  time  before  setting,  across  the  grey-blue  sea. 
It  descended  from  behind  a  bank  of  leaden  clouds,  its  lower 
limb  being  already  washed  apparently  by  the  waves  ere  the 
upper  emerged.  It  was  but  a  bar  of  ruddy  light,  therefore, 
that  shed  that  blood-red  gleam  athwart  the  ocean,  tipping 
the  crests  of  the  billows  from  the  west  eastwards  to  the 
dhow,  at  the  bows  of  which  both  Stanley  Grahame  and 
little  Captain  Mite  were  at  present  standing.  Neither  of 
them  had  ever  cast  their  eyes  on  so  fierce  a  light  before. 
After  gazing  sunwards  for  a  short  time  they  were  fain  to 
turn  backs  and  look  aft;  but,  lo !  yonder  was  the  light 
again,  reflected  from  the  little  windows  of  the  tall  poop,  as 
red  as  the  glare  of  a  railway  danger  signal  at  the  darkest 
hour  of  midnight. 

The  wind  had  forged  round,  so  that  what  little  there  was 
of  it  was  dead  against  the  dhow.  She  was  tacking,  and  far 
away  on  her  lee  bow,  but  stern  on,  her  hull  already  sinking 
behind  the  northern  horizon,  was  the  Tonitru.  The  sea 
had  a  strangely  unsettled  appearance.  Stanley  did  not  like 
the  looks  of  it,  nor  did  he  think  that  sun  or  sky  either 
boded  any  good. 

Neither  the  mite  nor  he  had  ever  sailed  in  a  dhow  before, 
so  they  were  not  quite  used  to  the  peculiar  independent 
swinging  motion  of  that  vessel.  She  seemed  as  wild  and 


174  Stanley  Grahame. 

erratic  as  her  former  Arab  owners,  now  throwing  herself 
almost  on  her  beam  ends,  and  trying  hard  to  show  her  keel 
to  the  weather;  now  plunging  bodily  forward,  bows  under, 
then  rearing  her  head  like  a  gigantic  turtle,  and  endeavour- 
ing ineffectually  to  poop  herself,  and  go  down  stern  first. 

"We're  going  to  have  a  blow,  I  think,"  said  Stanley. 

"  Shouldn't  wonder,"  said  the  mite,  evidently  very 
unconcerned  about  the  matter. 

Stanley  paced  the  deck  for  some  time,  taking  quick,  long 
strides,  and  pausing  now  and  then  to  cast  an  eye  aloft  or 
seawards,  for  night  was  already  beginning  to  settle  down 
on  the  waves. 

"  Ready  about !  "  he  cried  at  last. 

When  the  dhow  was  once  again  on  the  other  tack  he  sent 
for  Mr.  Miller. 

Mr.  Miller  was  the  sailmaker.  Stanley  knew  he  was  not 
only  an  old  sailor,  but  a  very  good  one.  If  the  whole 
truth  must  be  told,  he  had  chosen  him  as  one  of  the  crew 
of  the  prize  dhow  because  he  had  noted  his  good  qualities 
when  on  board  the  Tonitru,  and  he  knew,  moreover,  that, 
like  himself,  he  had  been  a  merchant-service  man. 

They  took  two  or  three  turns  up  and  down  the  deck 
together  ere  Stanley  spoke  a  word.  Then, 

"  What  do  you  think  of  the  weather  ? "  he  asked, 
abruptly. 

"If  rot  impertinent,  sir,"  said  the  old  sailmaker, 
changing  his  quid  to  his  other  cheek,  "  what  do  you  think 
of  it  yourself?  " 

Stanley  smiled.  "  I've  been  in  these  seas  before,"  he 
replied,  "  and,  from  signs  that  I  can  feel  more  than  I  can 
express,  I  believe  we  are  to  have  a  bit  of  a  blow,  and  we 
had  better  shorten  sail." 

"A  bit  of  a  blow,  sir!"  said  the  sailmaker.  "Ay,  that 
we  be,  sir,  and  take  the  word  of  old  Dick  Miller,  that, 
beggin'  your  pardon,  sir,  has  sailed  the  seas  before  3-011  was 
out  o'  the  cradle,  it's  going  to  be  an  all-rounder  too." 


A    Tornado.  175 

"You  mean  a  tornado  ?" 

"I  never  calls  it  that,  sir,  but  that's  what  I  does  mean. 
There  ain't  a  great  many  words  begins  with  'tor/  and 
they're  mostly  a  bad  lot,  but  that  'un's  the  worst,  so  I  calls 
it  an  all-rounder." 

"  Look,  Mr.  Miller,  look  !  " 

Stanley  pointed  eastwards.  There  was  a  bronze  moon 
glimmering  over  the  water. 

"  We  won't  have  he  long,  sir,"  said  Miller,  "  and  if  I  was 
you,  young  sir — " 

He  put  special  emphasis  on  the  "  young  "- 

"I'd  get  those  sails  down  out  o'  there  afore  the  clouds 
settle  down  on  us  more'n  a  mile  thick,  and  the  wind  begins 
to  whistle  through  the  riggin'."" 

"  But  what  can  I  substitute  ?  We  have  no  other/'  said 
Stanley.  "  Mac,"  he  cried,  without  waiting  for  an  answer 
"  call  all  hands.  Look  sharp." 

This  was  the  way  Stanley  spoke  to  his  captain,  and  his 
captain  answered, 

"  Ay,  ay,  sir,"  as  if  by  instinct. 

"  If  ye  rigs  a  tablecloth,"  said  Miller,  quietly,  "  you'll  find 
you've  too  much  afore  morning.  But  down  below  I've 
found  two  bonnie  wee  bits  of  storm-sails.  Ah  !  mind  you, 
sir,  them  demons  o'  Arabs  knowed  what  they  was 
about." 

Few  more  words  were  wasted  in  talking.  The  moon 
was  mounting  higher  and  higher,  the  light  in  the  east  had 
gained  mastery  over  that  in  the  west,  but  a  terrible  bank 
of  dark  clouds  was  slowly  rising  from  the  sea,  while  very 
high  in  the  air  tiny  flecks  of  cloudlets  seemed  positively 
scudding  against  the  wind. 

The  dhow  seemed  to  resent  interference  as  a  young  colt 
being  put  into  fresh  harness  does.  She  plunged,  and 
kicked,  and  reared,  and  rolled,  till  at  times  Stanley  thought 
the  very  sticks  would  come  out  of  her.  But  once  rigged 
out  in  her  new  sails  away  she  flew  before  the  wind  like 


176  Stanley  Grahame. 

a  startled  wild  deer.  Both  Stanley  and  his  little  captain 
were  thunderstruck,  they  never  could  have  believed  that  so 
unshapely  a  craft  could  speed  along  as  this  dhow  was  now 
doing. 

She  was  heading  south  and  by  east. 

Going  out  of  their  course  ?  Yes,  this  was  not  the  way  to 
Zanzibar,  but  if  they  were  going  out  of  their  course  they 
were  also,  they  hoped,  going  out  of  the  course  of  the  coming 
tornado  as  well.  There  was  a  wise  head  on  the  top  of 
those  old  shoulders  of  Sailmaker  Miller. 

They  determined  to  make  the  most  of  the  breeze  while 
it  lasted  ;  by-and-by,  after  an  ominous  calm,  perhaps,  it 
would  blow  from  every  point  of  the  compass. 

An  hour  or  two  afterwards  it  was  dark  indeed.  There 
was  a  moon  somewhere  away  behind  the  clouds,  but  the 
sky  had  fallen  on  the  sea,  so  to  speak ;  there  was  the  gloom 
of  night  all  around  them,  and  the  horizon  close  abroad  on 
every  side. 

"  Thank  God,"  said  Stanley,  "  I  have  you  here,  Miller. 
I'm  so  glad  I  brought  you." 

"  Thank  God,  young  sir,  we  have  sea-room.  I  think  it'll 
only  be  the  tail-end  of  this  business  we'll  get  after  all." 

No  doubt  you  have  read  in  books  of  those  terrible  storms 
called  tornadoes,  that  sweep  across  the  Indian  and  China 
seas  with  such  fearful  violence.  Some  of  my  country 
readers  may  have  seen  in  the  fields,  or  on  the  roads,  minute 
whirlwinds  that  raise  the  dust,  and  even  catch  the  birds  oft 
the  ground.  These  are  in  reality  tornadoes  on  a  small  scale, 
and  they  are  generated  and  guided  by  precisely  the  same 
law  of  storms.  It  will  be  noticed  that  they  have  two 
motions,  one  on  their  own  axis  and  the  other  a  progressive 
one,  in  which  the  whole  storm  moves  on  bodily.  A  tornado 
may  be  hundreds  of  miles  in  extent ;  its  forward  motion 
is  about  forty-five  miles  an  hour ;  the  actual  force  of  the 
circular  wind  from  eighty  to  ninety  miles  an  hour.  If  a 
tornado  falls  upon  a  ship,  so  that  the  centre  of  the  storm 


A   Tornado.  177 

shall  pass  over  her,  she  has  but  a  poor  chance  of  survival, 
but  sailors  know  in  which  way  to  steer  in  order  to  get  away 
from  this  centre. 

The  object  of  Stanley  and  Mr.  Miller  was  now  to  get  as 
far  as  possible  from  the  presumable  track  of  the  coming 
tornado,  but  in  this  they  were  only  partially  successful,  for 
the  storm  was  preceded  by  all  but  a  dead  calm.  Presently 
it  came. 

No  words  of  mine,  no  language  of  the  best  descriptive 
writer  on  the  might  or  mystery  of  the  ocean  and  the  won- 
ders of  God  seen  in  the  great  deep,  could  convey  to  your 
minds  anything  like  a  complete  picture  of  that  fearful  storm. 
But  it  passed  at  last,  the  Seyd  Pasha  was  safe,  and  all  hands 
on  board,  thanks  to  good  seamanship  and  an  all-seeing  Pro- 
vidence, were  alive  and  well. 

It  must  have  been  long  past  two  bells  in  the  middle 
watch  when  Stanley,  after  one  glance  around  at  that 
troubled,  wind-vexed  ocean,  on  the  breaking,  boiling  waters 
of  which  the  round  moon  was  now  smiling  peacefully 
down,  found  his  way  for  the  first  time  since  sunset  to  the 
saloon. 

"  We  can  leave  the  deck  now,"  he  had  said  to  Miller.    "  I 
feel  a  little  tired,  and  I  dare  say  so  do  you." 
"That  I  be,  sir,"  was  Miller's  reply. 

The  two  of  them  were  clad  from  shoulders  to  knees  in 
yellow  oilskins,  with  sea  boots  beneath,  and  both  woresou'- 
westers  merchant-sailor  fashion. 

They  entered  the  cabin ;  a  great  lamp  swung  from  the 
roof,  and  its  beams  fell  full  upon  the  wet  face  of  our  hero 
Stanley.  I  wish  you  had  seen  him  then.  The  rude  sea- 
man's suit  did  not  detract  from  his  youthful  manly  beauty, 
I  can  tell  you.  Escaping  from  underneath  the  sou'-wester, 
the  short  brown  curls  clustered  over  his  white  brow.  His 
well-chiselled  nose  and  upper  lip,  the  curve  of  which  was 
barely  hidden  by  the  small  dark  moustache,  his  shapely  chin 
and  hardy  cheeks,  combined  to  form  a  picture  that  was  very 

12 


178  Stanley  Graha?ne. 

pleasing  to  look  upon.  The  words  of  the  old  Jacobite  song 
might  have  arisen  to  your  lips  as  you  gazed  on  him, — 

"  Sae  noble  a  look,  sae  princely  an  air, 
Sae  gallant  and  bold,  sae  young  and  sae  fair." 

But  having  looked  on  that  picture,  your  eyes  would  naturally 
have  followed  Stanley's,  and  fallen  on  one  of  quite  a  different 
stamp — poor  little  Captain  Mite  lying  on  one  of  the  couches 
on  deck, — 

"Sleeping  sound  and  fast." 

Stanley  smiled  to  himself  as  he  thought  of  the  last  words 
he  had  spoken  to  this  wee  captain  of  his  in  the  early  part  of 
the  evening.  They  were  these  : 

"  Look  here,  Mite,  you're  only  in  the  way.  Off  with  you 
to  bed.  If  I  find  you  haven't  turned  in  in  ten  minutes  I'll 
pull  your  ears  well  for  you.  There  now  !  " 

So  after  this  mutinous  speech  the  captain  had  retired, 
said  his  prayers,  had  a  drop  of  sherbet  and  a  biscuit,  and 
gone  off  quietly  to  bed. 

"  Come  in,  Miller,  and  sit  down  and  have  something,  old 
man.  Yonder  is  a  bottle ;  help  yourself.  There  lies  our 
bold  captain  fast  asleep." 

"Poor  little  man!"  said  Miller,  helping  himself  to  a 
"  glass  o'  ship's,"  as  he  called  it.  "  Poor  little  man  !  What 
a  shame  to  send  a  mite  like  he  to  sea !  Hardly  fit  to  be  out 
o'  pinafores,  is  he  ?  " 

The  kind-hearted  sailmaker  patted  his  sleeping  captain  on 
the  cheek  as  he  spoke,  and  carefully  covered  up  a  leg  that 
had  strayed  from  beneath  the  sheets. 

Stanley  laughed  heartily.  "  It's  a  good  thing,"  he  said, 
"  that  the  captain  doesn't  hear  you.  He'd  pinafore  you. 
Why,  he  was  sixteen  last  birthday." 

"  Be  he  now  ?  "  said  the  sailmaker,  looking  through  his 
"  glass  o'  ship's  "  at  the  light.  "Should  have  thought  that 
lollipops  would  have  been  more  in  his  way  than  navy  bis- 
cuits and  big  guns,  sir." 


A  Mystery.  179 

Long  after  Miller  left  the  saloon  Stanley  sat  in  a  rocking- 
chair  by  the  little  table.  The  coffee  the  steward  had  brought 
him  had  got  cold  and  stood  untasted.  He  was  not  sitting  up 
to  safeguard  the  vessel.  The  danger  was  past ;  the  dhow 
was  once  more  on  a  pretty  even  keel,  though  the  sea  was 
still  turbulent.  No  ;  he  was  deep  in  thought.  He  was  re- 
viewing the  whole  of  his  past  life,  and  trying  as  well  as  he 
could  to  fathom  the  depths  of  a  probable  future.  But  some- 
thing had  occurred  on  the  previous  evening,  to  which  his 
thoughts  now  reverted.  It  was  something  very  strange 
indeed.  Just  before  the  storm  came  on,  as  he  was  seeing 
to  the  battening  down  of  the  hatches,  the  voice  of  some  one 
singing  had  fallen  on  his  ear.  It  was  the  voice  of  one  of  the 
slaves,  too.  The  melody  was  a  very  old  and  somewhat 
mournful  one.  The  words  were  words  that  he  had  often 
heard  sung  by  the  negroes  in  their  little  hamlets  on  the 
estate  of  Beaumont  Park : 

"  We  hunt  no  more,  for  the  'possum  and  the  'coon, 

By  the  meadow,  the  sea,  and  the  shore  ; 
We  dance  no  more  by  the  glimmer  of  the  moon, 

By  the  bench  near  the  old  cottage  door. 
The  day  goes  by  like  a  shadow  o  er  the  heart, 

With  sorrow  where  all  was  delight ; 
For  the  time  has  come  when  the  darkies  have  to  part, 

Then  my  old  Kentucky  home— Good  night." 

The  storm  had  driven  all  recollection  of  this  event  out  of 
Stanley's  head  till  now,  but  he  resolved  that  as  soon  as 
daylight  should  come  he  would  set  himself  to  unravel  the 
mystery. 

''For  good  or  for  ill,"  he  had  said  to  himself,  as  he  set 
foot  on  the  dhow's  deck  to  take  charge  under  his  nominal 
captain,  "  for  weal  or  for  woe,  this  vessel  is  to  have  some- 
thing to  do  with  the  story  of  my  life." 

"  For  good  or  for  evil,  for  weal  or  for  woe — "  he  was  re- 
peating the  words  to  himself  now. 

"For  good — or — for  ev "     His  head  dropped  on  his 


i8o  Stanley  Grahame. 

breast,  his  eyes  closed  in  sleep.  Tired  nature  had  asserted 
herself.  Four  bells  struck — he  still  slept  as  peacefully  as  a 
child  in  its  mother's  arms.  The  motion  of  the  dhow  had 
become  less  irregular,  it  had  resolved  itself  into  the  old 
swing  and  dip  and  roll.  He  was  rocked  in  the  cradle  of  the 
deep. 

Sailmaker  Miller  looked  in  once  to  make  some  report  or 
ask  some  question,  but  stole  away  again  on  tiptoe. 

Five  bells  rang  out,  and  soon  after  the  saloon  door  was 
once  more  opened  and  the  curtain  pulled  cautiously  aside, 
and,  holding  it  back  with  his  left  hand,  a  tall,  powerful,  and 
nearly  naked  negro  stood  in  the  doorway,  and  glanced 
eagerly  at  sleeping  Stanley's  face. 

With  his  high  cheek-bones,  his  glittering  bloodshot  eyes, 
and  stealthy  movements,  as  he  dropped  the  curtain  and 
advanced  into  the  middle  of  the  room,  he  looked  a  very 
dreadful  apparition  indeed,  all  the  more  so  in  that  his  frame 
was  somewhat  emaciated  by  ill-treatment  or  disease,  or 
more  probably  by  both. 

He  advanced  cautiously  to  within  a  few  feet  of  the  still 
slumbering  Stanley,  then  laid  one  hand  lightly  on  his 
shoulder. 

The  sleeper  started  to  his  feet,  his  right  hand  clutching  a 
revolver  that  lay  on  the  table,  and  the  two  stood  confronting 
each  other. 

"  Young  Massa  Stanley  ! "  said  the  negro,  joy  and  sorrow 
both  blended  in  the  tones  of  his  voice. 

"Sambo  !  "  gasped  our  hero.  "  Is  it  possible  ?  Are  you 
indeed  Sambo  ?" 

"Oh  !  Massa  Stanley,"  replied  the  negro.  "  It  is  indeed 
all  dat  am  left  of  dat  poor  wretch." 

"But  how  came  you  here?"  cried  Stanley.  "And  in 
the  guise  of  a  slave  !  Speak,  my  poor  friend,  speak." 

"  It  am  a  long  story,"  said  Sambo,  "  and  I'se  tired  and 
kinder  weak.  I — I " 

He  would  have  fallen   had  not  Stanley  caught  him  and 


An  Unlooked-for  Visitor.  iSr 

seated  him  in  the  rocking-chair,  drawing  another  close  be- 
side it,  and  sitting  down  himself. 

"  Drink  this  coffee,  Sambo— and  here,  just  a  little  to  eat. 
Now  cheer  up  and  tell  me  all." 

"  Cheer  up,  young  sah  ?  "  replied  Sambo,  putting  down 
the  cup  and  forcing  a  smile.  "  Yes,  I  cheer  up.  It  is  ober 
now.  I  hab  found  you.  But  dey  use  me  so  bery  bad,  sah. 
See  ! " 

He  pointed  to  his  poor  ankles  and  wrists,  that  still  bore 
the  scars  of  the  cruel  slave  irons. 

"Dey  hab  almost  make  one  baby  of  me,  sah  !  I  feel  now 
I  hab  found  you  I  want  to  cry.  All  de  cruelty  dey  put  on 
me  not  make  me  feel  like  dis  before.  Now  you'se  found, 
Massa  Stanley,  I'se  all  ober  quite  'sterical.  I  is,  sah,  for 
true." 

There  were  tears  in  honest  Sambo's  eyes  as  he  spoke. 

"See,  sah!"  he  continued,  producing  a  letter  he  had 
hidden  in  his  cummerbund.  "  All  de  time  dey  keep  me  as 
one  slabe  I  stick  to  dis—  ha  !  ha  ! '' 

Stanley  took  the  letter ;  it  was  from  his  uncle. 

In  his  broken  but  pathetic  English  Sambo  then  proceeded 
to  relate  all  his  adventures  since  Stanley  had  left  Beaumont 
Park.  He  had  no  sooner  gone,  it  seemed,  than  Sambo, 
his  own  way,  began  to  importune  his  master,  Captain  Mac- 
kinlay,  for  leave  to  follow  Stanley  to  Zanzibar.  The  old 
captain  was  kind-hearted  and  soft,  and  soon  gave  in  ;  and 
shortly  after  this  an  opportunity  offered  in  the  shape  of  a 
ship  sailing  from  Baltimore  for  the  Antarctic  oil  fisheries. 
She  was  to  call  first  at  the  Cape,  and  for  this  part  of  her 
voyage  Sambo,  at  his  master's  recommendation,  was  engaged 
as  cook.  But  Cape  Town  is  a  long  way  from  Zanzibar,  and 
for  a  time  this  faithful  negro  could  find  no  chance  of  secur- 
ing a  passage  to  that  strange  city.  Opportunity  offered  at 
last.  He  was  engaged  as  seaman  on  board  the  very  dhow 
they  were  then  in,  and  set  sail  presumedly  for  Zanzibar. 
But  alas  !  he  soon  found  that  Zanzibar  was  about  the  last 


1 82  Stanley  Grahame 

place  in  the  thoughts  of  the  captain  and  owners  of  the  Seyd 
Pasha.  They  gave  that  c!ty  a  very  wide  berth  indeed,  and 
finally  cast  anchor  about  a  mile  south  of  the  bar  of  Lamoo, 
on  or  very  near  the  line.  Here  a  party  of  these  honest 
Arab  traders  landed  in  the  mangrove  forest.  They  took 
Sambo  with  them,  and,  much  to  his  terror  and  disgust,  after 
two  days  and  two  nights  marching  inland,  they  came  to  a 
barracoon  or  slave  encampment,  presided  over  by  some 
rascally  Portuguese,  and  the  journey  was,  after  a  few  hours' 
rest,  recommenced  backwards  through  the  woods  to  the 
shore. 

Sambo  determined  to  watch  a  chance  and  run  away.  He 
would,  he  thought,  march  directly  south  along  the  coast  until 
opposite  Zanzibar,  and  take  his  chance  of  obtaining  a  passage 
thereto.  The  town,  he  was  well  aware,  lay  on  an  island. 

The  opportunity  he  looked  for  came  that  very  night,  and 
while  the  Arabs  slept  he  stole  away  from  the  camp  and  was 
soon  hidden  in  the  darkness  of  the  forest.  But  at  daybreak 
he  was  missed,  and  those  bloodhounds  of  Arabs  were 
speedily  on  his  track,  and  strong  and  lithe  in  limb  though 
Sambo  was,  he  was  overtaken  ere  night  fell  and  brought 
back.  He  was  now  most  cruelly  treated.  Servant  nor 
sailor  he  was  to  be  no  more,  but  a  slave ;  his  clothes  were 
torn  off  his  back,  he  was  tied  to  a  tree  and  beaten  with 
bamboo  canes  till  he  fainted  from  loss  of  blood  ;  then  his 
wrists  were  ironed  and  he  had  to  fall  in  with  the  captured 
gang,  and  so  he  once  more  stepped  on  board  the  dhow  that 
he  had  left  as  a  free  man. 

Sambo  did  little  more  than  mention  the  cruel  treatment 
he  and  the  other  slaves  received  in  the  slave  dhow,  the  scanty 
supply  of  water,  the  handfuls  of  half-boiled  rice  doled  out  to 
them  day  by  day,  their  sufferings  through  sickness  brought 
on  for  want  of  fresh  air  and  cleanliness. 

"Den,"  continued  Sambo,  "  byme-by  we  hear  big  guns 
fire  on  deck,  and  de  drefful  noise  of  de  battle,  and  plenty 
much  smoke  and  fire  fly  down  de  hatch;  den  I  tink  it  am  all 


Sambo's  Story.  183 

ober.  But  oh  !  joy  ob  joys,  sah  !  I  hear  my  young  massa's 
voice  shout  higher  dan  all  de  din  ob  de  awful  fight ;  and  I'se 
so  happy  after  dat,  I  feel  I  must  cry  like  one  leetle  chile." 

Sambo  paused  for  a  moment,  then  his  face  became  lighted 
up  as  it  were  with  a  broad  smile,  as  he  continued, — 

"  Oh  !  young  Massa  Stanley,  I'se  no  occasion  to  grumble 
now ;  I'se  reason  to  bress  de  Lord  for  all  His  goodness. 
Suppose  He  not  make  me  slave,  den  p'r'aps  I  not  meet  you. 
It  seem  all  so  dark  at  first,  no  hope,  no  nuffin.  Den  you 
come  in  dat  fighting  ship,  and  I'se  free.  But  suppose  you 
no  hab  come,  den  I  a  slabe  for  two,  t'ree,  p'r'haps  plenty 
long  year.  I  not  see  you,  and  all  dat  time  poor  Missie  Ida 
and  Captain  Ross  dey  pine  and  die  away  in  de  'terior  ob 
Africa.  Oh  !  sah,  sah !  " 

"  Ida  ?  Captain  Ross  ?  "  exclaimed  Stanley,  kneeling  on 
the  deck  beside  his  old  friend,  and  clutching  him  by  the  arm. 
"  Speak,  Sambo,  speak  quickly,  I  tell  you." 

"  Ess,  young  massa,  ess,  I  speak  plenty  quick.  I  hab 
neard  where  Ida — where  poor  Ida " 

"  Yes,  yes,  go  on,  Sambo  ;  go  on,  good  Sambo." 

"  Ida  is "  The  poor  fellow  pressed  a  hand  to  his  brow; 

he  only  muttered  the  words,  "  Dark — dark." 

His  head  fell  and  arms  dropped,  and  he  lapsed  into  insen- 
sibility. 


XV. 


LIFE  IN  THE  DHOW— CAPTURE   OF  A    SLAVER— BOY 
GREEN  MAKES  HA  Y  WHILE  THE  SUN  SHINES. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

LIFE   IN   THE   DHOW CAPTURE    OF   A   SLAVER BOY    GREEN 

MAKES    HAY   WHILE   THE   SUN    SHINES. 

MAC,  MAC  !  Mite,  I  say  1 "  cried  Stanley.  "  Wake, 
man !  wake,  and  help  me  !  " 

Young  as  our  midshipmite  was,  he  had  been  at  sea  long 
enough  to  acquire  the  habit  of  waking  easily  when  spoken 
to.  He  was,  therefore,  on  his  feet  in  a  moment. 

"  Stanley  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Why,  Stanley,  what  is  the 
matter  ?  Who  have  you  there  ?  " 

"It  is  Sambo,"  said  Stanley,  "about  whom  I  have  so 
often  spoken  to  you.  Quick  !  he  has  fainted  !  Help  me  to 
lower  him  gently  on  deck.  So — how  light  the  poor  fellow 
is  !  How  he  must  have  suffered  !  " 

They  laid  him  on  the  carpet,  his  head  on  a  level  with  his 
body;  they  rubbed  his  chest  with  spirits,  and  chafed  his 
poor  thin  black  hands.  Had  he  been  a  brother  they  could 
not  have  been  more  kind  and  thoughtful.  When  at  length 
he  began  to  show  signs  of  returning  life,  and  muttered  some 
incoherent  words,  Mite  was  dispatched  by  Stanley  for  the 
steward,  and  a  bed  was  made  up  for  Sambo  in  a  corner  of 
the  saloon.  Hot  water  was  placed  at  his  feet,  and  he  was 
soon  fast  asleep.  And  thus  he  remained  till  far  into  the 
forenoon  watch. 

"  I  say,  Stan,  old  man,"  cried  Mite,  "  don't  walk  so 
terribly  fast,  and  don't  take  such  awful  strides !  Just  think 


1 88  Stanley  Grahame. 

of  the  difference  between  the  length  of  my  legs  and  the 
longitude  of  yours  !  " 

Stanley  laughed  and  slackened  his  speed. 

"  I'm  keeping  pace  with  my  thoughts,  I  suppose,"  he 
said.  "  But  only  think,  you  silly  little  Mite — 

"Captain  MacDermott,  if  you  please,"  interrupted  Mite. 

"  Well,  Captain  MacDermott,"  continued  Stanley,  raising 
his  hat  with  mock  courtesy,  "just  think — a  letter  from  uncle, 
and  probably  news,  when  Sambo  wakes,  of  dear  Ida  and 
her  father !  Isn't  it  glorious  and  funny,  eh,  Mite  ?  " 

As  he  spoke  the  last  words,  with  a  sad  want  of  respect 
for  his  captain's  dignity,  he  dug  his  thumb  into  that  officer's 
ribs. 

"  What  is  the  service  coming  to  ? "  said  his  captain, 
pompously.  "Sir,"  he  continued,  "I've  half  a  mind  to 
order  you  down  below  under  arrest.  Your  want  of  disci- 
pline distresses  me  in  the  extreme.  Your  conduct  before 
the  eyes  of  the  crew,  too,  is  highly  mutinous  and  insub- 
ordinate." 

But  Stanley  now  had  his  captain  by  one  ear.  He  led 
him  thus,  much  to  the  amusement  of  the  bluejackets,  to  the 
door  of  the  saloon  and  pointed  to  the  couch  where  Mite 
had  slept. 

"  Captain  MacDermott,"  said  Stanley,  "  I've  half  a  mind, 
sir,  to  order  you  back  to  bed  again.  Have  a  care,  sir,  lest 
I  do  so  !  " 

"  Mr.  Grahame,"  said  Mite,  about  five  minutes  after  this 
— and  as  he  spoke  he  flourished  a  long  battered  telescope 
in  a  most  impressive  manner — "  Mr.  Grahame,  it  is  my 
desire,  as  captain  of  this  ship,  to  muster  by  open  list.  Let 
all  hands  lay  aft,  and  summon  the  slaves  on  deck." 

"  Ay,  ay,  sir  1 "  said  Stanley,  touching  his  hat.  "  Shall 
I  act  as  clerk  as  well,  sir  ?  " 

"Most  assuredly,  sir,"  replied  Mite,  seating  himself 
three  steps  up  the  ladder  that  led  to  the  poop. 

So  Stanley  Grahame  got  a  chair  and  the  log-book    and 


The  Boy  Green  Again.  189 

as  his  name  was  called  each  man  marched  past  his  boy- 
captain,  called  out  his  rating,  and  lifted  his  hat  as  he  did  so. 
The  last  to  inarch  past  and  call  out  his  name  and  rating 
was  "  boy  Green,  sir,  surgeon's  assistant." 

"Stop,  stop!"  cried  Stanley.  "How  is  this?  Your 
name  is  not  here." 

"  No,  'tain't  likely,"  sneered  boy  Green,  "  seein'  as  'ow 
I  took  French  leave  of  the  old  Tonitru  !  My  name  ain't 
there ;  but"  he  added,  emphatically,  "  I  guess  the  man's 
here." 

"  You  young  rascal !  "  began  Captain  Mite. 
"Who  are  you  a  bullyin'  of?"  said  boy  Green.  "You 
ain't  no  bigger  than  I  be,  come  !  See,  sir,"  he  continued, 
addressing  Stanley,  as  if  Mite  was  quite  beneath  his 
notice,  "  you  wants  to  know  vy  I  stowed  away.  I'se 
tired  makin'  poultices,  that's  vy.  Besides,  sir,  you  must 
have  a  surgeon  o'  some  kind  aboard  this  old  sea  boot, 
and  a  loblolly's  better  nor  nothing,  sure-ly  ! " 

"  Silence,  sir !  "  roared  Stanley.  "  Go  down  below, 
sir,  and  have  your  hair  cut." 

With  one  contemptuous  glance  at  his  captain  boy  Green 
retired. 

The  poor  slaves  when  brought  up  seemed  to  think  their 
last  hour  had  come,  but  Stanley  spoke  kindly  to  them  in  the 
Seedie  language  and  reassured  them. 

There  was  one  lanky  youth  among  them  whose  light- 
brown  skin  and  more  regular  features  bespoke  him  a 
Somali  Indian.  He  was  simply  dressed  in  a  cotton  kilt, 
ur  cummerbund,  and  his  hair  was  an  enormous  all-round 
pile,  as  big  as  an  ordinary  church-hassock.  While  Stanley 
was  looking  at  the  lad,  "He!  he!"  sneered  a  voice  be- 
hind him.  "  Some  more  o'  us  vants  their  hair  cut,  1 
guess  ! " 

It  was  that  boy  Green  again. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  said  the  acting  boatswain, 
coming  up  and  touching  his  hat  to'Stanley,  "  there  is 


Stanley  Grahame. 

"  Stop  ! "  cried  Captain  Mite,  "  you  must  make  your 
report  to  me  " — as  he  spoke  he  tapped  his  breast  with  the 
butt-end  of  that  old  telescope  of  his — "  to  me,  sir  !  The 
captain  of  a  ship  is  not  to  be  practically  ignored  as  he  sits 
on  the  steps  of  his  own  poop." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  then,  sir,"  said  the  boatswain,  trying 
to  suppress  a  smile,  "  but  there's  a  three-masted  ship  just 
hove  in  sight." 

"  Where  away  ?  "  asked  Stanley. 

"On  the  starboard  quarter,  sir,"  replied  the  man. 

"  Hurrah  !  "  cried  Mite,  forgetting  all  his  dignity  in  a 
moment,  and  pitching  his  telescope  into  the  lee  scuppers. 
"  Hurrah  !  here's  for  off !  " 

He  was  up  the  main  rigging,  hand  over  hand,  ere  Stanley 
had  time  to  think  or  breathe. 

"  Follow  your  leader  !  "  cried  Mite,  laughing.  "  Come 
on,  daddy-longlegs !  " 

"  What  a  merry  little  captain  we  has  got,  sir  !  "  said  the 
boatswain. 

"  We  have  indeed  !  "  said  daddy-longlegs,  smiling,  as  he 
went  off  to  follow  his  leader. 

He  took  his  glass  with  him,  though,  and  after  he  had 
had  a  long  look  at  the  stranger  he  handed  the  glass  to 
Mite. 

"  Now  then,  Mite,"  said  Stanley,  "  can  you  be  serious 
for  five  minutes  ?  " 

"  You  dear  old  stoopid  !  of  course  I  can." 

"  Well,  then,  look  here.  Listen.  This  is  the  situation. 
The  Tonitru,  is  either  in  Davy  Jones's  locker  or  she  has 
weathered  the  tornado  and  is  holding  on  her  course  to  Zan- 
zibar. We've  been  blown  nearly  two  hundred  miles  out  ot 
our  course,  and  we  are  also  out  of  the  course  of  all  ordinary 
traders,  and  in  my  opinion  yonder  ship  is  the  Madagascar 
slaver  having  a  look  round  for* the  dhow." 

"  Hurrah  I  "  cried  Mite  again,  "  that  would  be  jolly  !  " 

"  Hush  !  "  said  Stanley,  "  don't   be  so   ready  with  your 


A   Suspicious  Sail.  19 1 

'  hurrahs ! '     If  that  is  the  slaver  I  think  we  should  try  to 
capture  her — or  at  least  overhaul  and  search  her." 
"  I'll  fight  her !  "  said  Captain  Mite,  boldly. 
"Tush  !  "  cried  Stanley,  impatiently.     "A  lot  of  fighting 
you'd  do,  Mite  !     Can  you  swim  ?  " 

"  A  little,"  replied  Mite. 

"  To  be  sure  you  can  ! "  said  Stanley  ;  "  I  never  knew 
a  Scotch  boy  that  couldn't.  Well,  Mite,  if  you  don't  keep 
quite  serious  I'll  fling  you  out  of  the  top ;  then  when  you're 
hauled  on  board  again  I'll  pack  you  off  to  bed  till  your 
clothes  are  dry.  That's  how  I'll  serve  you,  Captain 
MacDermott !  Now,  Mite,  you  are  in  charge  of  this  ship — 
after  a  fashion,  you  know.'' 

"  Thank  you,"  said  the  captain  of  the  Seyd  Pasha. 

"And  whatever  happens  you  are  chiefly  responsible. 
And  I'm  second  in  charge,  nominally,  but  really  your 
master,  don't  you  see  ?  Well,  Mite,  we'll  put  it  in  another 
way.  You're  head  of  the  ship,  and  I'm  neck,  and  it's  the 
neck  that  moves  the  head.  Well  now,  if  that  be  really 
the  big  slaver,  and  if  we  capture  her,  what  a  glorious  thing 
that  would  be  for  you,  Mite  !  You  would  be  sure  of  your 
promotion,  and  I  would  be  none  the  worse  !  " 

"  Capital !  "  cried  Mite.  "  I  see  what  you're  driving  at, 
Stanley,  old  man.  Well  I — Mite  MacDermott,  as  you  call 
me,  captain  of  the  Seyd  Pasha — give  you  liberty  to  do  what 
you  like  with  that  ship  for  the  common  weal.  There  now  !  " 

"That's  right,  Mite,  my  boy  !  Now  go  down  and  change 
your  dress,  we  mustn't  have  uniform  showing  on  deck  ; 
and  just  tell  the  fellows,  will  you,  to  rig  out  as  like  Arabs 
as  possible  ?  And  hoist  the  Arab  flag,  Mite." 

"Give  me  the  keys  of  your  sea-chest/'  said  Mite. 

"  There  you  are.     What  are  you  up  to  ?  " 

"  You'll  see  by-and-by  1 "  cried  Mite,  sliding  down 
a  stay. 

Mite  had  now  found  occupation  congenial  to  his  taste. 
He  went  to  his  own  chest  first,  and  it  was  not  long  ere  he 


IQ2  Stanley  Grahame. 

rigged  himself  out  as  a  full-blown  Arab,  turban  and  all,  for 
he  had  a  dress  which  he  was  wont  to  wear  while  doing 
charades  on  board  the  Tonitru.  He  next  opened  Stanley's 
chest,  sending  the  steward  meanwhile  for  the  boatswain 
and  Mr.  Miller.  Between  the  three  of  them,  with  the  help  of 
Stanley's  shirts  and  night-dresses  and  pieces  of  cotton  cloth 
of  various  colours  to  represent  turbans,  and  a  free  use  ot 
burned  cork,  in  less  than  twenty  minutes  every  man-Jack 
was  changed  so  that  his  own  mother  wouldn't  have  known 
him.  Mite  even  rigged  out  Sambo,  who  was  now  awake,  in 
Stanley's  evening  dress-suit,  and  gave  him  a  white  beard 
and  moustache,  and  made  him  take  his  seat  in  the  rocking- 
chair  with  a  book  in  his  hand. 

All  this  time  Stanley  remained  in  the  top,  his  spy-glass 
fixed  on  the  strange  ship.  The  dhow  had  been  kept  away, 
and  was  fast  bearing  down  on  her.  Very  much  surprised 
he  was,  though,  when  he  came  below  at  last  to  find  the 
ship  apparently  in  possession  of  a  gang  of  cut-throat- 
looking  Arabs.  He  laughed  heartily  and  entered  the 
saloon.  Here  another  surprise  awaited  him,  for  seated  in 
the  easiest  chair,  book  in  hand,  was,  to  all  appearance,  an 
aged  missionary. 

"  'Pon  my  word  !  "  cried  Stanley,  "  I  never  would  have 
known  you,  Sambo  !  Now  sit  down,  old  man  ;  I'm  burning 
to  hear  what  you  began  to  tell  me  last  night  when  you 
fainted,  poor  fellow.  I've  just  five  minutes  to  spare, 
Sambo." 

"  I'se  better  now,"  said  Sambo.      "  You    have  seen  all 
de  niggers — all  de  slaves  on  board  ?  " 
"  Yes." 

"And  you  have  seen  one  Bushman  ooy,  yeller  skin, 
plenty  much  hair  all  ober  him  head  ?" 

"Yes,  Sambo  :  I  took  particular  notice  of  the  lad." 
"  He  was  chain  to  me,"  continued  Sambo,  "all  dis  cruel 
voyage.     I  speak  much  of  him  in  the  Somali  tongue,  and 
he  tell  me " 


News  of  Ida.  193 

"  Quick,  quick,  Sambo !  that  Somali  boy  knows  of  the 
whereabouts  of  poor  Ida  and  her  father — is  it  not  so 
Sambo  ?  "  . 

"  Ess,  sah ;  ess,  young  massa.  He  know.  He  come 
from  far,  far  inland,  from  the  land  ob  de  lakes,  de  land  ob 
de  raging  torrent,  and  mountains  higher  dan  de  clouds  ob 
de  sky,  sah.  He  come  from  dere,  and  he  have  tell  me 
dat  in  an  island,  in  de  middle  of  a  great  lake,  a  beautiful 
white  queen  is  residing,  sah  ;  he  hab  seen  her.  She  is 
young  and  lubly,  and  dere  is  also  one  gemlum — white 
man,  who  make  medicine — and  de  chiefs  come  plenty 
often  to  see  dem  both.  Dat,  young  massa,  is  poor  Ida 
and  her  pa.  Dey  are  slaves,  all  same,  and  boy  say  she 
often,  often  weep." 

"  Dear,  honest  Sambo,"  said  Stanley,  taking  his  hand, 
"you  have  indeed  raised  hope  in  my  heart;  but  from 
Jill  I  have  heard,  and  also  from  what  Cooke  has  told  mej 
I  have  good  reason  to  believe  that  there  may  be  many 
white  people  slaves  to  the  tribes  that  live  in  the  far  in- 
terior of  that  dark  continent,  Africa.  How  can  we  tell 
that  this  white  queen,  as  the  Somali  boy  calls  her,  is 
indeed  Ida?" 

Sambo  rose  and  went  quickly  to  the  bed  in  the  corner 
that  he  had  recently  left,  and  returned  immediately,  hold- 
ing something  in  his  hand.  "  She  give  dis  ting  to  the 
Somali  boy  when  he  start  on  his  long  journey  wid  ivory 
to  de  city  ob  Lamoo.  See,  sah,  see  !  " 

Stanley  seized  it  eagerly.  It  was  a  small  tablet  of 
ivory,  not  bigger  than  a  florin ;  and  roughly  carved,  or 
scratched,  on  its  one  smooth  side  were  the  words,  "Ida 
Ross." 

Delighted  beyond  measure,  Stanley  sent  at  once  for 
the  Somali  boy  and  questioned  him  in  his  own  language. 
He  found  out  from  him  far  more  then  even  Sambo  had. 
Ida  and  her  father  were  indeed  in  slavery,  and  there 
were  more  whites  in  the  same  bondage,  and  in  a  far 

13 


1 94  Stanley  Grahame. 

worse  plight,  for  in  whatever  way  they  had  managed  it, 
both  Captain  Ross  and  his  daughter  seemed  to  have 
gained  some  ascendency  over  the  wild  tribes  among 
which  they  dwelt.  Prisoners  they  were;  slaves  only  in 
name. 

"  Sambo,"  said  Stanley,  after  he  had  finished  questioning 
the  lad,  "I  want  you  to  be  my  servant  here,  in  the 
saloon,  all  the  voyage." 

"  Ess,  young  massa ;  ess,  ess,  sah." 

"  Well,  you'll  take  off  these  garments ;  I'll  give  you 
a  suit  that  will  better  become  you,  and  I'll  find  one 
for — what  is  the  boy's  name  ?  " 

"  Mbooma  ! " 

"  Oh  ! "  said  Stanley,  "  we'll  call  him  Brown  for  short. 
I'll  find  a  suit  from  Captain  MacDermott's  chest  for 
Brown,  as  he  has  made  so  free  with  my  outfit.  You'll 
make  him  tidy  Sambo.  I  know,  and  cut  his  hair.  Boy 
Green  was  right." 

"The  ship  has  hove-to,  sir,"  said  the  boatswain,  enter- 
ing the  saloon,  "and  is  making  signals." 

"Well,  follow  her  example,"  answered  Stanley. 

lie  paused  but  for  a  moment  to  pick  up  the  Arab 
signal-book,  then  hurried  up  to  the  poop. 

Mite  was  there,  and  several  of  the  quasi-Arab  crew. 

"That's  right,  Mite,"  said  Stanley.  "Now  that  they 
see  your  Arabs  up  here  they  won't  smell  a  rat.  Send 
Mr.  Miller  here.  Mr.  Miller,  I  want  your  assistance;  we 
haven't  many  hands,  and  we  may  have  to  fight.  See 
every  gun  loaded  quietly  and  ready  to  run  out,  and  have 
cutlasses,  pikes,  and  revolvers  all  handy." 

"Ay,  ay,  sir!" 

"  Why,  look,  Mite,  what  her  signal  says  :  '  Heave-to, 
I'll  send  a  boat  on  board.'  " 

"Couldn't  be  better!"  cried  Mite,  exultingly.  "She 
is  playing  into  our  hands ! " 

A  boat  was  now  lowered    from    the    tall-sparred   ship, 


Catching  a   Tartar.  195 

though  at  least  five  hundred  yards  away,  for  Stanley  did 
not  care  to  get  any  nearer  just  then.  There  was  a  good 
time  coming. 

All  the  men  in  the  boat  that  was  now  rapidly  approach- 
ing seemed  to  be  Europeans,  and,  as  far  as  could  be 
judged  by  looks,  they  were  a  mixture  of  Spanish,  Portu- 
guese, and  half-castes.  The  officer  in  the  stern-sheets 
was  armed  to  the  teeth,  and  the  oarsmen  wore  daggers 
and  pistols. 

"  Pass  the  word  quietly,"  said  Stanley  to  Mite,  "  to 
disarm  the  officer  as  soon  as  he  steps  on  deck,  and 
then  seize  the  boat." 

These  orders  were  obeyed  to  the  letter,  and  hardly 
had  the  look  of  surprise  vanished  from  the  face  of  the 
slaver  officer  as  he  stepped  on  deck  before  he  was  a 
prisoner  and  minus  sword  and  pistols. 

Almost  at  the  same  moment  our  fellows,  six  of  the. a, 
threw  themselves  into  the  boat.  There  was  a  short  scuffle, 
then  all  was  over — no,  not  quite,  for  the  crew  of  the 
boat  had  to  be  taken  on  board. 

"  There  beant  no  use  talking  to  'em,"  said  the  boat- 
swain, handing  down  a  piece  of  hard  rope.  "  Try  'em 
with  this  'ere.  That's  the  style  !  Give  it  to  'em  proper  1 " 

Our  fellows  did  give  it  to  them  proper.  This  was  a 
truly  English  way  of  explaining  matters  that  these  piratical 
scoundrels  did  not  quite  like,  but  there  is  no  mistake 
about  one  thing — they  understood  it  thoroughly. 

Whack,  whack,  whack !  Oh  !  didn't  they  just  scream  ! 
They  came  floundering  in  over  the  dhow's  bulwarks  like 
a  flock  of  geese,  and  dropped  on  the  deck  all  of  a  heap, 
shouting,  "  Asesinato  !  misericordia  !  misericordia  I  "  amid 
shouts  of  hearty  Saxon  laughter. 

The  boy  Green  was  dancing  for  joy,  and  Mite  was  in 
his  glory ;  even  Stanley  could  not  refrain  from  smiling 
to  see  the  grimacing  those  foreigners  made  as  they  rubbed 
their  smarting  thighs.  And  Sambo  must  needs  address 


196  Stanley  Grahame. 

the  biggest  of  the  lot  as  follows  :  "  How  you  like  fum-fum 
wid  de  rope-end,  eh  ?  You  big  white  chap  am  de  slave 
now.  Dis  chile  am  free.  Eh  ?  Yah  !  yah  ! 

Stanley  now  hastily  read  a  letter  that  had  been  taken 
from  the  officer  in  charge  of  the  boat,  then  laughingly 
handed  it  to  Mite. 

"It's  Greek  to  me,  Stan,"  said  Mite.  "What  do  all 
these  hens'-toes  mean  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  I  forgot,"  replied  Stanley.  "  This  is  a  letter  to 
the  commander  of  this  dhow  ordering  him  to  disembark 
his  slaves  as  soon  as  possible  at  the  old  place,  and  then 
to  proceed  north  again  for  the  last  cargo.  This  is  quite 
enough  to  condemn  her.  We  will  now  capture  her,  or 
burn  and  sink  her  if  need  be. 

"Hullo,  Mr.  Miller!"  he  shouted;  "look,  the  ship  has 
filled  her  fore  yard  !  Run  out  that  little  Dahlgren  and 
send  a  shot  through  her  rigging  to  show  she  is  wanted. 
Down  with  the  Arab  flag,  Mite  !  Haul  up  our  own  bit 
of  bunting ! " 

Our  men  gave  one  ringing  cheer  as  the  bonnie  white 
ensign  floated  out  in  the  breeze,  and  crack  !  went  the 
Dahlgren  gun.  But  the  shot  tore  over  the  ship  without 
doing  aught  of  damage. 

And  now  the  chase  began. 

"Go  on  firing,  Mr.  Miller!"  cried  Stanley.  "Do  your 
best  to  cripple  her,  but  don't  fire  at  the  hull,  we  want 
no  bloodshed.  Bo'swain,  get  up  the  slave-irons,  we'll  give 
those  chaps  a  taste  of  their  own  trade.  What  a  provi- 
dential thing  the  finding  of  that  letter  was,  Mite;  mind 
you  take  care  of  it." 

Receiving  no  answer,  Stanley  looked  behind  him.  Mite 
had  gone. 

The  fact  is  that  a  few  minutes  before  this  Captain 
Mite  noticed,  very  much  to  his  astonishment,  a  lanky 
yellow  youth  standing  beside  Sambo  in  the  saloon  door- 
-.vay,  dressed  out  in  one  of  his  best  suits  of  mufti — a 


'•''Making  Hay  while  the  Sun  Shines"    197 

recent  importation  from  England — and  had  hurried  below 
with  the  laudable  intention  of  punching  his  head. 

But  when  Sambo — the  new  steward,  as  he  styled  him- 
self— explained  matters,  he  passed  on  into  the  saloon, 
laughing.  He  threw  the  letter  he  had  received  from 
Stanley  down  on  the  table,  helped  himself  to  a  drop  of 
sherbet,  which  he  rather  liked,  and  went  out  again. 

Two  hours  afterwards  the  mainmast  of  the  big  ship 
was  shot  away,  and  she  lowered  the  crimson-and-orange 
flag  of  Spain  that  she  had  been  flying  at  her  peak. 
Then  there  was  bustle  and  stir  on  board  that  dhow. 
Mite  was  ordered  to  proceed  with  an  armed  boat  to 
complete  the  capture  of  the  three-master.  Stanley  did 
not  tell  him,  however,  to  load  the  boat  up  with  slave- 
irons.  This  was  an  idea  of  his  own.  Mite  believed  in 
making  sure.  He  even  found  time  to  run  up  to  where 
Stanley  was  standing  on  the  highest  part  of  the  poop 
and  beg  him  to  keep  the  ship  covered  with  the  guns, 
for  fear  the  hauling  down  of  the  flag  might  only  be  a  ruse. 

"  These  beggars  are  up  to  all  kinds  of  tricks,  you  know, 
Stanley,"  said  Mite. 

"  Look  here,  Mite  1 "  cried  Stanley,  impatiently,  "  if 
you're  not  out  of  here  in  two  seconds  I'll  go  myself !  " 

Then  off  went  Mite,  and  in  less  than  ten  minutes  the 
British  flag  floated  over  the  Spaniard's  decks.  But 
when  Stanley  went  on  board  her,  very  much  sur- 
prised he  was  indeed  to  find  every  one  of  her  crew, 
from  the  captain  downwards,  in  slave-irons. 

Meanwhile  somebody  was  making  hay  while  the  sun 
shone.  It  was  the  boy  Green.  "  There's  nobody  a-looking," 
he  said  to  himself,  "so  I'll  go  and  have  a  buster  in  the 
cabin.  'Tain't  every  day  I  gets  sich  a  chance.  Guess  I'll 
do  it  proper  when  I'se  about  it  1 " 

He  went  whistling  away  aft  as  he  spoke.  He  picked 
up  a  belaying-pin  and  sent  it  skipping  along  the  deck. 
It  struck  poor  Sambo  on  the  shins  and  doubled  him  up. 


198  Stanley  Grahame. 

Boy  Green  doubled  up  too — with  laughing.  Then  he 
seized  the  Somali  boy  and  whirled  him  round  and  round 
as  if  he  had  been  a  teetotum. 

"Got  'em  all  on,  then,"  he  said,  "eh?  'Air  fashionable 
crop  and  all  !  My  heye !  you  does  look  a  guy ! " 

A  minute  after  he  was  seated  in  the  cabin,  with  cold 
fowl,  ham,  and  sweet  potatoes  before  him,  and  bananas 
and  grapes  and  pineapples  and  nuts. 

Boy  Green  was  by  no  means  shy,  especially  when  any- 
thing good  to  eat  was  placed  before  him,  and  the  zeal 
with  which  he  applied  himself  to  the  demolition  of  that 
cold  fowl  was  worthy  of  a  nobler  cause.  All  the  while 
he  kept  talking  to  himself  as  if  there  had  been  two  of 
him.  "  Help  yourself  to  another  slice,  Mr.  Green." 
"Thank  you,  I  think  I  will."  "A  tiny  bit  more  fowl, 
Mr.  Green?"  "  Well,  since  you're  so  pressing."  "Another 
glass  of  sherbet,  Mr.  Green  ?  one  glass  won't  hurt  you." 
"Thanks;  I  don't  think  three  would." 

When  boy  Green  had  stuffed  as  much  inside  as  he 
could  hold,  he  commenced  stuffing  outside.  "  I  hate 
waste,"  he  said,  cramming  the  remains  of  the  fowl  into 
his  bosom,  with  the  last  pineapple  and  all  the  bananas, 
the  ham-bone,  and  a  few  potatoes.  "And  there  is  them 
nuts  and  raisins,"  he  continued.  "  It's  a  shame  to  leave 
'em.  Here  goes  !  " 

He  picked  up  a  letter  from  the  table,  made  a  grocer's 
bag  out  of  it,  and  emptied  the  plate  therein.  Then  he 
finished  the  last  drop  of  sherbet,  and  "I  feels  like  a 
giant  refreshed ! "  said  the  boy  Green,  and  off  he  went, 
whistling  as  before.  • 


"1A)V    t.KKI   N     WAS    I.V     NO    Ml   ASS    SHY    \VHKN     ANYVHIXli    liill.I)    TO    HAT    \\    \- 
J-I  A<  HIM." 


XVI. 

TRIED  FOR  PIRACY— DEATH  SENTENCE- 
BOY  GREEN  AGAIN. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

TRIED    FOR    PIRACY — DEATH    SENTENCE BOY   GREEN    A3AIN 

IN  one  of  the  most  beautiful  of  the  many  bays  that  indent 
the  eastern  shores  of  Africa  south  of  the  line,  and 
about  two  weeks  after  the  events  narrated  in  the  preceding 
chapter,  three  vessels  lay  at  anchor.  One  we  know  well, 
it  is  the  high-pooped  war-dhow  Seyd  Pasha,  not  long 
since  a  prize  to  Her  Majesty's  ship  Tonitru,  and  still  borne 
on  the  log  of  that  saucy  cruiser  under  the  heading, 
"  Seyd  Pasha,  five  guns,  piratical  slave-dhow,  Midshipman 
MacDermott  commander,  prize  crew,  Stanley  Grahame 
interpreter  and  second  officer  in  charge." 

The  other  we  also  know.  Two  tall  masts  still  pierce  the 
blue  of  the  summer  sky;  the  other  is  gone,  and  only  an 
unsightly  ragged  stump  remains. 

The  third  vessel  we  have  never  seen  before.  She  has 
but  newly  come  on  our  stage.  Alas!  she  came  but  to  bring 
sorrow  to  two  of  our  chief  heroes — a  Spanish  man-o'-war. 

But  why  is  she  here  ?  and  why  does  the  crimson-and- 
orange  flag  now  float  lazily  over  the  tall-masted  slaver? 
This  is  a  question  that  is  soon  replied  to.  In  the  heat  and 
bustle  of  action  but  little  lookout  was  kept  on  board  the 
Seyd  Pasha,  and  it  was  not  until  all  was  over,  and  the 
wreck  of  the  fallen  mast  cut  away,  the  dead — of  whom 
there  were  several — -placed  reverently  side  by  side  to  await 
burial,  and  the  injuries  of  the  wounded  attended  to,  that  a 
large  steamer  was  noticed  not  two  miles  distant,  and 
rapidly  nearing  them 


2O2  Stanley  Grahame. 

Stanley  had  been  walking  up  and  down  the  quarter-deck 
in  company  with  Captain  Mite  and  Mr.  Miller.  They  were 
considering  how  best  they  could  divide  the  crew  between 
the  dhow  and  the  new  prize  in  order  to  reach  Johanna,  one 
of  the  Comoro  group  of  islands,  and  the  residence  of  the 
British  consul,  speedily  and  in  safety. 

"  Hallo  !  "  Stanley  had  cried,  as  he  spied  the  great  black 
frigate,  "nobody  on  fhe  outlook?  What  have  we  here?" 

"A  Spaniard,  sir,  sure  enough,"  was  Mr.  Miller's 
reply. 

"  So  it  is,"  replied  Stanley,  "  but  our  two  nations  are 
friendly,  and  Spain  is  under  treaty  to  put  slavery  down  as 
well  as  we  are." 

"She  won't  take  bur  prizes  away,  willshe?"  said  Mite. 

"  That  she  can't,"  was  the  reply,  "  not  from  under  that 
flag." 

"Flags  don't  go  for  much  at  sea,"  said  Mr.  Miller,  smiling. 
"  You  see,  sir,  any  ship  may  hoist  any  bit  o'  bunting  she 
pleases,  just  to  suit  her  own  conwenience  as  it  were." 

"True,  true,"  replied  Stanley;  "but  we  have  good  proof 
that  this  is  a  slaver." 

"  Not  on  board  her,  though,  sir.  I've  just  been  all  round 
her  decks,  above  and  below,  and  ne'er  a  bit  o'  me  can  find 
a  westige  o'  slave  about  her.  She  has  more  bags  o'  rice 
than  she  needs,  and  cunwenience  for  distilling  more  water 
than  ten  times  her  crew  could  drink ;  but  them  proofs  ain't 
proofs,  sir — leastways  they  won't  condemn  a  wessel,  sir, 
unless  there's  something  else." 

"  Ah  !  but  that  we  have,"  said  Stanley ;  "  the  letter,  Mite, 
the  letter  ? :' 

Mite  had  turned  ghastly  pale ;  he  staggered  and  had  to 
clutch  at  the  bulwarks  to  save  himself  from  falling. 

"  Speak,  Mite;  speak  quick.  You  have  it;  you  have  the 
letter  ?  " 

"Call  away  the  dingy,  Stan,"  replied  Mite.  "I  believe 
it  is  in  the  dhow's  saloon.' 


A   Change  of  Fortune.  203 

Both  the  dhow  and  the  America,  the  name  the  large 
slaver  went  by,  were  still  hove-to. 

Mite  was  back  again  in  less  than  ten  minutes. 

"  Oh  !  Stanley,  it's  lost,  the  letter  is  lost,"  was  all  he 
could  say. 

"Lost!  Then  Heaven  help  us,"  cried  Stanley;  "we 
are  lost  too." 

"  Don't  say  that,  sir,"  said  Miller. 

"  But  I  do  say  it,  and  I  feel  it.  Though  I  have  not  been 
long  on  this  coast,  Mr.  Miller,  I  have  studied  all  the  ins  and 
outs  of  this  accursed  slave-trade,  and  you  know  as  well  as 
I  do  that  neither  Spaniards  nor  Portuguese  ever  went  heart 
and  soul  into  its  suppression." 

"  I  knows  it,  sir,  I  knows  it ;  I've  been  over  ten  years  in 
African  waters,  and  the  truth  has  been  forced  upon  me  like. 
The  Portuguese,  you  see,  sir,  make  a  power  o'  money  out  o' 
gold-dust  and  slaves,  and  they  don't  like  trade  interfered 
with  by  interloping  Britishers,  as  they  call  us.  They — 

"  Yes,  yes,  my  good  Mr.  Miller,  we  know  all  about  it ; 
say  no  more.  The  question  is,  what  now  is  best  to  be  done  ? 
Did  I  not  know  we  are  in  the  right,  I  would  look  upon  this 
half-wrecked  ship  as  a  testimony  of  our  treachery  and  cruelty, 
the  villains  we  hold  in  irons  as  ill-treated  traders,  ourselves 
as  pirates,  and  yonder  grim  stains  on  the  deck  and  bulwarks 
as  the  blood  of  murdered  men." 

"  They  are  lowering  a  boat,  sir." 

"Yes,"  said  Stanley.  "Miller,  you  must  act  as  inter 
preter." 

In  the  midst  of  his  sorrow  and  annoyance  Stanley  could 
not  help  admiring  the  workman-like  way  the  boat  was 
handled.  She  was  broader  in  the  beam  and  lower  as  to 
gunwales,  but  otherwise  she  might  have  been  taken  for  a 
British  man-o'-war's  whaler. 

In  two  minutes  more  the  lieutenant  in  command  stood 
on  the  quarter-deck,  bowing  low  with  head  uncovered  to 
Stanley  Grahame. 


2O4  Stanley  Grahame, 

Stanley  introduced  him  to  Mite,  Captain  MacDermott,  of 
the  prize  dhow  Seyd  Pasha. 

The  lieutenant  drew  himself  up,  and  after  one  haughty 
glance  at  poor  Mite,  who  never  looked  to  less  advantage, 
he  addressed  a  few  words  in  Spanish  to  Mr.  Miller. 

"  It's  just  as  I  thought  it  would  be,"  said  that  worthy 
sailor  to  Stanley.  "  This  wasp-waisted  son  of  a  sea-cook, 
with  cocked  hat  and  swabs,  wants  to  know  why  the 
captain  and  crew  of  a  British  prize  should  be  wearing  the 
dress  of  piratical  Arabs." 

Stanley  bit  his  lip  with  vexation.  Everything  seemed 
to  be  working  against  him. 

He  was  about  to  explain  when  the  Spaniard  raised  his 
hand. 

"  Not  to  me,  sir,"  he  said.  "  You  will  pardon  me,  I  am 
sure.  I  have  but  to  do  my  duty.  You  are  our  prisoners, 
and  must  accompany  me  on  board  the  Don  Carlos" 

This  being  interpreted  to  Stanley,  he  turned  to  Mite. 

"Don't  you  fret  and  worry,  Mite,"  he  said,  "  and  remem- 
ber that  this  officer  is  but  doing  his  duty.  It  is  only  the 
fortune  of  war.  It'll  all  come  right  enough  in  the  end." 

Then  he  turned  to  the  lieutenant. 

"  We  are  ready,"  he  said,  bowing. 

Let  us  now  betake  ourselves  on  board  the  Don  Carlos, 
lying  at  anchor  out  in  the  bay  there  on  this  lovely 
summer's  morning.  Here  is  a  half-caste  Kaffir  in  a  log 
canoe,  with  outriggers  as  large  as  ordinary  sheep  hurdles. 
The  little  boat  does  not  capsize  if  you  sit  straight,  with 
head  erect,  and  nose  in  a  line  with  the  keel,  and  have 
your  hair  parted  in  the  centre.  The  savage  creeps  on 
board  after  he  has  floated  the  wonderful  boat ;  he  has  no 
clothing  save  a  filthy  rag  around  his  loins,  but  he  manages 
the  paddle  well. 

How  calm  and  bright  and  blue  the  sea  is  !  The  beach 
is  a  broad  belt  of  snowy  sand,  on  which  the  waves  are 
breaking  in  a  kind  of  dreamy  monotone,  as  if  the  sea  were 


Prisoners.  205 

singing  the  land  to  sleep ;  and  all  asleep  in  the  sunshine 
it  seems  to  be,  for  other  than  that  of  breaking  waves  there 
is  not  a  sound  to  be  heard  ;  there  is  silence  on  the  woods, 
silence  on  the  hills,  the  smoke  is  curling  upwards  from  the 
village  that  goes  straggling  up  the  glen,  but  no  other  sign 
of  life  is  visible  ;  and  yonder  on  the  picturesque  fort,  from 
the  embrasures  of  which  guns  look  menacingly  seaward, 
one  white-coated  sentinel  alone  can  be  seen.  But  see,  a 
sheet  of  flame  appears  for  a  moment  on  the  frigate's 
quarter,  and  the  sharp  roar  of  a  gun  falls  on  the  ear  and 
goes  echoing  and  re-echoing  all  along  the  shore,  and  the 
white  smoke  rolls  slowly  to  leeward. 

What  means  it  ?  Only  this,  the  court  is  assembled  in 
that  ship -of- war's  saloon  to  try  two  men  on  a  charge 
of  piracy  on  the  high  seas. 

Very  imposing  the  officers  that  crowd  around  the  table 
look  in  their  uniforms  of  white  and  blue  and  gold.  The 
captain  of  the  ship  is  president,  a  red-faced,  white- 
mouslached,  but  not  unkindly-looking  gentleman.  At  his 
right  sits  the  commandant  of  the  fort,  and  near  him  the 
Portuguese  consul,  while  officers,  both  naval  and  military, 
make  up  the  number  to  twelve. 

The  prisoners  are  brought  in — Stanley  calm  and  bold,  for 
he  is  confident  he  will  receive  a  fair  and  impartial  trial,  and 
poor  little  Mite,  very  pale,  but  taking  the  cue  from  Stanley 
and  trying  hard  to  look  just  as  bold  and  calm  as  he. 

Mr.  Miller  is  there,  also  a  prisoner,  but  at  liberty  to 
interpret  every  word  that  is  spoken. 

After  a  few  words  of  explanation  to  the  officers  of  the 
court, 

"Prisoners,"  said  the  president,  "you  stand  arraigned 
before  us  on  one  of  the  gravest  charges  that  can  be  brought 
against  mortal  men — namely,  that  of  murder  and  piracy 
on  the  high  seas.  You  have  even  been  taken  red-handed 
in  these  acts,  and  as  commander  of  a  ship  sent  ou 
expressly  by  my  Government  to  suppress  and  punish  such 


206  Stanley  Grahame. 

as  you,  your  shift  would  have  been  a  short  one,  your  trial 
a  mere  matter  of  form,  had  you  not,  to  shield  yourselves 
from  your  doom,  hoisted  the  flag  of  a  nation  with  which 
we  are  at  peace.  You  are  Englishmen  both,  therefore  it 
may  be  supposed  have  a  perfect  right  to  attempt  to  shelter 
yourselves  under  England's  flag ;  but  I  have  yet  to  learn 
that  officers  of  a  British  man-of-war,  as  you  call  yourselves, 
ever  opened  fire  on  an  unarmed  and  legitimate  trader. 
Your  having  hoisted  that  flag,  therefore,  but  adds  to  the 
heinousness  of  your  crime,  if  guilty  you  be,  and  will  not 
defer  retribution  a  single  day  if  the  charges  are  proved. 
Myself  and  my  colleagues  are  willing  to  lend  polite  ears 
to  any  remarks  you  make  in  justification  of  your  conduct, 
or  any  explanation  you  can  give  of  the  fact  that  both 
yourselves  and  crew  were  and  are  dressed  in  a  garb, 
which  in  all  my  time  at  sea,  I  never  have  seen  man-of- 
war's  men  of  your  nation  adopt." 

A  murmur  and  laugh  of  derision  went  round  the  table 
as  the  president  sat  down,  and  looks  that  boded  no  good 
were  directed  towards  the  prisoners. 

In  clear  ringing  tones  Stanley  told  his  story — the  story 
of  the  capture  of  the  slave  dhow  by  the  Tonitru,  his  being 
sent  in  charge  with  Mite  as  their  captain,  his  meeting 
the  slave-ship,  their  dressing  up  as  Arabs  to  make  sure 
of  the  prize,  of  the  arrival  of  the  boat  from  the  America, 
and  the  delivery  of  the  letter,  etc.  ;  in  fact,  he  told  them 
all  that  the  reader  already  knows. 

He  was  listened  to  most  patiently,  and  at  the  conclusion 
of  his  speech,  which  he  delivered  with  all  the  earnestness 
and  eloquence  of  a  man  who  knows  he  is  verbally  fighting 
for  dear  life,  an  officer  arose,  and  bowing  with  a  pleasant 
smile  to  the  prisoners, 

"I  am  here,"  he  said,  "as  your  special  pleader.  Your 
defence  is  good,  and  well  worthy  of  the  great  nation  to 
which  you  belong.  That  letter  will  save  our  case.  You 
doubtless  can  produce  it  ?  " 


The  Trial.  207 

As  soon  as  Miller  had  made  this  speech  plain  to  Stanley, 

"  Alas  !  "  he  replied,  "  during  the  excitement  and  bustle 
of  the  action  that  letter  has  been  mislaid." 

His  pleader's  face  fell. 

"  This  is  indeed  sad,"  he  said ;  "  but  the  uniform  of  your 
men,  and  of  the  young  officer  beside  you,  where  is  that  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  these,"  cried  Stanley,  brightening  up,  "  can  be 
easily  got.  They  are  on  board  the  dhow." 

"  It  is  false,"  said  another  Spaniard.  "  It  is  false,  sir. 
I  myself  had  command  of  the  party  who  searched  the 
dhow,  and  who  struck  the  irons  from  my  captured  country- 
men, and  nothing  in  the  shape  of  uniform  was  found  in 
the  dhow — nothing  British  save  the  flag  we  hauled  from 
the  peak." 

"  The  scoundrels  !  "  said  Miller,  "  they've  been  and  gone 
and  shied  all  our  togs  to  the  sharks.  That  chap  that's 
just  finished  yarning  has  done  it.  He  with  the  blacking- 
brush  moustache  and  the  mouldy  chops.  I  say,  Mr. 
Grahame,  wouldn't  I  give  ten  years  o'  my  life  just  to  have 
five  minutes  of  that  swab,  five  minutes  all  to  ourselves, 
fair  wind  and  no  favour.  Oh  !" 

Then  Mr.  Miller  seemed  to  lose  control  of  himself;  he 
threw  himself  into  an  attitude  of  a  truly  British  character, 
but  by  no  means  complimentary  to  the  august  assembly 
he  stood  in  front  of.  He  drew  himself  back  most  artisti- 
cally, his  guards  well  up,  then  he  landed  one  with  his 
left  straight  from  the  shoulder  at  an  imaginary  op- 
ponent. 

"Ah!"  roared  the  president,  stretching  out  his  arm 
towards  Miller,  and  with  a  face  almost  purple  with  rage, 
"  Que — Que — Que  significa  eso  ?  " 

"  Yo  no  se,  senor,"  said  the  lieutenant. 

"Yo  pido  pardon  e  ustcd,  senor,"  said  Mr.  Millet, 
humbly.  "I  was  but  pointing  out  to  my  friends  the  manner 
in  which  some  of  the  slaves  of  the  Seyd  Pasha  must  have 
pitched  our  uniform  overboard.  None  of  your  brave  and 


20 8  Stanley  Grahame. 

honourable  countrymen  would    have  thought    of   so  dis- 
honourable an  action." 

The  prisoners'  solicitor  once  more  addressed  them.  He 
seemed  to  wash  his  hands  with  invisible  soap,  and  there 
was  a  cloud  on  his  brow,  although  a  sadly  sinister  smile 
on  his  by  no  means  beautiful  countenance.  Both  Stanley 
and  Mite  knew  the  meaning  of  this  even  before  Mr.  Miller 
translated  his  language.  "He  threw  up  the  case.  He 
was  sorry,  but  he  could  do  no  more ;  the  ladder  that  ought 
to  have  led  to  success  was  kicked  from  under  them.  It 
only  remained  for  him  to  wash  his  hands  of  the  business 
and  throw  up  the  sponge.  In  a  speech  that  he  had  made 
in  their  behalf,  so  he  said,  before  they  were  summoned 
to  this  tribunal,  he  had  fought  his  ground  inch  by  inch 
(  pahno  a  palmo),  but  in  vain.  He  must  now  advise  them 
to  submit  to  whatever  was  before  them  (bajar  la  cabeza)" 

Ba  ar  la  cabeza  !  (Bow  the  head  !)  What  a  sad  signifi- 
cance rested  in  those  words,  Bajar  la  cabeza!  Criminals 
on  some  parts  of  the  Dark  Continent  stand  erect  for  execu- 
tion, by  the  sea  beach  or  on  the  lovely  river's  bank,  but 
they  bow  the  head  to  the  sword's  blow. 

The  court  retired  for  half  an  hour,  one  of  the  longest, 
saddest  half-hours  ever  young  Stanley  had  spent.  But 
hark  !  They  come  at  last.  Our  her6es  could  hear  them 
laughing  and  joking  long  before  they  reached  the  door  of 
the  saloon.  If  the  truth  must  be  told,  they  had  spent  the 
time  discussing  a  light  luncheon  of  fruit  and  wine  and 
coffee.  They  had  never  even  mentioned  the  names  of  the 
accused,  till  they  had  finished  their  repast,  and  then  the 
president  had  merely  said,  shortly, 

"I  suppose,  senors,  we  are  all  agreed  ?" 

"All." 

"  And  the  sentence  on  these  two  young  men  ?  " 

"  Muerte  "  (Death). 

They  were  very  grave  when  reseated  around  the  table, 
and  every  eye  in  the  room  was  turned  towards  the  presi- 


Sentenced  to  Death.  209 

dent.  He  stood  there  silently  for  a  moment  or  two  leaning 
forward  with  both  hands  on  the  table.  His  task  was  not 
a  pleasant  one,  and  he  seemed  deeply  commiserating  the 
position  of  the  prisoners  in  front  of  him,  that  the  words 
he  was  about  to  speak  would  consign  to  so  early  a  grave. 
Who  knows  what  thoughts  might  not  have  been  passing 
through  his  mind  during  those  few  brief  moments  that  he 
spoke  not?  He  perhaps  had  sons  of  his  own.  He  might 
— But  hush  !  his  voice  now  breaks  the  solemn  stillness. 
"Prisoners,"  he  begins,  "you  have  been  tried  and 

convicted " 

"  Hold  on,  old  stick-in-the-mud,"  cried  a  voice  from 
under  the  table,  "  there  is  somebody  else  got  summat  to 
say  as  well  as  you,  I  guess." 

Out  popped  the  boy  Green,  to  the  astonishment  of  every- 
body present. 

"  Quien  csta  a/ii,"  cried   the  president.     "  Qitien  esta  esc 

muchacho  ?     Que,  que " 

" Que,  qiie,"  sneered  the  boy  Green,  "as  many  k's  as 
you  please,  but  listen  you'll  have  to.  I've  been  afore 

bigger  beaks  than  you,  and  a " 

"Away  with  him,"  cried  the  president. 
"  I've  been  lyin'  in  there  all  the  time,"  continued  boy 
Green,  "  and  my  conscience  has  been  a-tumbling  over  on 
me.  Hands  off,  I  say !  Hands  off !  I's  not  a-goin'  to 
stand  by  and  see  them  young  officers  murdered.  Let  go, 
will  you.  Not  if  I  can  help  it.  Let  go,  I  say.  Take  that, 
then!  There's  one  for  your  nob,  and  t'other  for  your 
shins." 

Poor  boy  Green  !  I  greatly  fear  his  strange  intrusion 
did  not  mend  matters,  good  though  his  intentions  un- 
doubtedly were.  Kicking  and  hitting  and  sprawling,  he 
was  borne  off,  and  thrust  below  in  irons. 

*  *  *  *  a  * 

While  lying  in  their  cell  at  night,  with  hands  and  lect 
in  chains,  worn  out  in  body  and  mind,  and  just  sinking 

14 


2io  Stanley  Grahame. 

into  an   uneasy  dreamful  slumber,  from  which  the  mono- 
tonous sound   of  the  sentry's  footsteps    was  not   entirely 
banished,  a  voice  raised  in  song  suddenly  fell  on  the  ears 
of  Stanley  and  Mite,  and  made  them  start  and  listen. 
It  was  Sambo's,  most  unmistakably  : 

"  Weep  no  more,  dear  massa, 

Oh  !  weep  no  more  to-day, 

We  will  sing  one  song  for  de  ole  Kentucky  home, 
For  de  ole  Kentucky  home,  far  away." 

Then  there  were  heard  the  tread  of  hurrying  feet  and 
the  sound  of  blows,  and  thereafter  all  was  silent  as  before. 

Two  hours  might  have  passed — the  sentry  had  been 
relieved,  so  it  must  have  been  well  on  in  the  middle  watch, 
when  a  splash  was  heard  in  the  water  alongside,  succeeded 
almost  immediately  by  the  sharp  ring  of  a  rifle,  and  a  wild 
shout  of, 

"  Escapade  /    Ha  escapado!" 


XVII. 

IN    THE    DUNGEON— SAMBO    TO    THE    FORE—  7 HA 7 
UBIQUITOUS  BOY  GREEN  NOT  FAR  BEHIND. 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

IN   THE    DUNGEON — SAMBO    TO     THE     FORE — THAT   UBIQUITOUS 
BOY   GREEN    NOT    FAR    BEHIND. 

"  QTANLEY!  Stan!" 

O      "  Yes,  Mite,  yes." 

"  Oh !  dear  Stan,  I  am  so  glad  to  hear  your  voice  again. 
I've  had  such  a  strange  happy  dream,  and  then  to  waken 
here  in  this  dungeon,  all  in  the  dark!  It  is  too,  too  terrible. 
And  I  felt  around  for  you,  Stan,  and  when  my  hand  didn't 
touch  you  I  thought  they  had  taken  you  away  and — killed 
you,  Stan." 

"  You  are  nervous,  Mite ;  but  I  do  not  wonder." 

"  It  is  being  in  the  dark,  Stanley ;  but  don't  fear  for  me, 
I'll  keep  up  my  heart  like  a  man  when  it  comes  to  the 
— end,  Stan."  His  voice  shook  as  he  spoke. 

"  Creep  closer  this  way,  Mite.  Now  make  a  pillow  of 
my  knee.  That's  right.  I  think  it  will  soon  be  day,  little 
brother." 

"  Oh  !  Stan,  brother  Stan,  do  not  talk  in  a  kind  voice 
to  me,  or  else  I'll  break  down,  I'll " 

Poor  little  Mite  !  he  did  break  down,  and,  with  his  head 
pillowed  on  Stanley's  knee,  sobbed  as  if  his  very  heart 
would  burst. 

"  It  does  seem  so  very  cowardly  of  me  to  cry,  being  a 
Scotchman  too;  but  they  won't  see  my  tears,  Stan — no, 
hey  won't  see  them." 

An  hour  later  it  was  day,  but  the  bright  sunshine  that 
streamed  through  the  tall  narrow  opening  in  the  wall  oi 


214  Stanley  Grahame. 

their  dungeon,  brought  neither  hope  nor  joy  to  the  hearts 
of  the  prisoners.  The  place  in  which  they  were  confined 
was  beneath  the  fort  and  partly  underground,  its  walls 
were  the  bare  stones,  furmlnre  it  had  none  of  any  kind,  its 
very  floor  was  a  portion  of  the  sea-beach,  and  they  sat  or 
lay  or  walked  on  sand  and  shingle.  There  was  but  small 
room  for  walking,  and  had  there  been  ever  so  much,  the 
chains  that  bound  their  legs,  and  those  cruel  manacles, 
would  have  precluded  the  possibility  of  taking  exercise 
So  close  to  the  sea  were  the}',  that  they  could  hear  the 
waves  breaking  on  the  shore,  and  had  there  been  a  sudden 
high  tide  the  waters  might  have  rushed  in  and  drowned 
them  in  their  cell. 

Mite  still  n-tained  his  position  by  Stanley's  knee,  but  he 
was  lookinfe  vp  >nto  his  face. 

"You  feel  better  now,  don't  you,  Mite?" 

"  Much,  now  that  I  can  see  you.  Do  my  eyes  look 
swollen  ?  That  padre  will  be  here  before  long,  and  I 
would  not  like  that  even  he  should  think  I  was  afraid." 

"The  padre,"  replied  Stanley,  "is  a  kindly-hearted  old 
man,  and  a  servant  of  God,  Mite,  although  his  religion  does 
differ  in  some  respects  from  ours." 

There  was  a  long  silence  now,  both  were  thinking  and 
praying.  The  gecko  lizards  glided  stealthily  over  the 
rough  walls,  intent  on  their  prey;  the  tap-tapping  one 
made  when  hammering  a  captured  moth  to  death  was 
distinctly  audible.  A  great  round-eyed  bird,  with  wings 
and  body  of  blue  and  crimson,  alighted  for  a  moment  on 
the  window-ledge,  and  gazed  inquiringly  at  the  prisoners, 
then  took  to  flight  again  with  a  frightened  cry. 

How  sweet  to  Stanley  seemed  the  morning  sunshine  ! 
What  a  glorious  thing  freedom  would  be  he  thought. 
Freedom  and  sunshine,  in  which  even  a  bird  could  revel, 
but  which  wero  denied  to  him  and  his  companion. 

Death  hath  jts  terrors  even  to  the  aged  ;  but  to  die  so 
young,  and  to  die  innocent — to  meet  a  felon's  i5oom;  to  fill 


In  the  Dungeon.  215 

a  felon's   grave — the  thought  of  it  is  too  awful  to  dwell 
upon. 

"  Stan,"  said  Mite  at  last. 

"  Yes,  Mite." 

"  Do  you  think  it  will  be  to-day  ?  " 

"Dear  Mite,"  replied  Stanley,  "I  cannot  even  guess. 
You  see  the  padre  knows  nothing,  or  he  will  tell  UF 
nothing." 

"  Oh  !  Stan,  I  do  not  fear  death  now,  at  least  not  an 
ordinary  death.  Not  if  they  shoot  us,  Stan ;  but  I  have 
read  of  the  terrible  garotte,  and  how  they  place  you  in  a 
chair  and " 

"  Oh !  Mite,  Mite,  poor  boy,  do  be  calm.  My  heart 
bleeds  for  you.  I  seem  to  have  lived  a  long,  long  time 
in  the  world,  but  you  are  so  young.  And  yet  you  know 
it  will  soon  be  all  over.  It  was  so  kind  of  the  padre 
yesterday  to  bring  us  paper  and  pens  and  let  us  wfite  to 
— to  those  we  will  never,  never  see  again.  But  listen." 

A  key  was  inserted  in  the  lock,  and  two  men  armed  to 
the  teeth  brought  in  their  meagre  breakfast  of  boiled  rice 
and  water,  and  placed  it  beside  them. 

By-and-by  the  padre  came  in,  a  white-haired,  kindly- 
faced  old  priest. 

He  sat  down  by  the  prisoners  and  took  Mite's  hand  in 
his.  He  talked  to  them  long  and  earnestly  in  their  own 
language,  not  of  things  earthly,  but  of  things  beyond  the 
veil.  There  was  something  in  this  priest's  manner  to-day 
more  impressive  even  than  usual.  Stanley  noticed  this, 
but  he  kept  his  thoughts  to  himself.  But  ere  long  Mite 
noticed  it  too,  and,  more  impulsive  far  than  his  companion 
in  sorrow,  he  clutched  the  priest's  thin  white  hand,  and  it 
would  have  melted  a  heart  of  stone  to  have  seen  how 
eagerly  he  gazed  up  into  his  face,  as  he  piteously  exclaimed, 

"  Oh  !  father,  is  it  to  be  to-day  ?  " 

"  Alas !  my  son,"  said  the  padre,  solemnly,  "  it  is  to  be 
to-day." 


216  Stanley  Grahamc. 

And  the  old  man  bowed  his  head  and  wept. 
The  last  morning  had  come,   then  :  the   execution  was 
fixed  for  the  afternoon.     And  yet  how  slowly  the  forenoon 
seemed  to  wear  away. 

It  must  have  been  past  two  o'clock — they  could  tell  that 
from  the  shadow  of  the  strong  iron  bar  that  guarded  the 
window  of  their  cell — when  music  fell  upon  their  ear-v-  ' 
the  music  of  a  brass  band ;  a  slow,  solemn  march  was 
being  played  ;  it  increased  in  tone,  seeming  to  come  nearer 
and  nearer,  and  finally  died  away  in  the  distance.  Mite 
crept  closer  to  Stanley's  side;  they  both  knew  what  it 
meant,  but  neither  spoke. 

A  few  minutes  afterwards  the  dungeon  door  was  thrown 
open. 

Always  before  this,  whenever  the  guard  or  any  one  came 
to  visit  the  prisoners  in  their  cell,  the  door  was  opened 
cautiously,  and  only  sufficiently  wide  to  admit  the  visitor 
with  difficulty.  But  now  it  was  dashed  open  wide  against 
the  wall.  There  was  a  terrible  significanc--  in  even  this. 

The  passage  beyond,  usually  as  dark  as  night  itself,  was 
now  lighted  up  by  the  glimmer  of  lamps,  revealing  armed 
men  in  white  uniforms.  There  were  quick,  short  orders 
being  given,  and  the  rattle  of  swords  and  musketry.  I 
think  poor  Mite  would  have  fainted  at  this  moment  had 
not  the  aged  padre  pressed  close  to  his  side.  Once  out  of 
the  fort,  although  the  bright  sunshine  dazzled  him  for  a 
moment,  the  fresh  breeze  revived  him,  and  he  was  able 
to  march  by  Stanley's  side  as  steadily  as  he  did.  Only  he 
clutched  his  brother's  hand — to  do  even  this  was  a  comfort 
to  the  boy. 

No  need  for  either  to  speak.  No  need  for  them  to 
breathe  the  word  farewell.  They  were  together  now  hand 
in  hand,  and  so  they  felt  they  would  be — till  the  end. 

***** 
We  must  leave  this  sad  scene  now  for  a  short  time,  and 
fill  hack  in   our  narrative  to  the  morning  after  the  trial, 


Sambo  to  the  Fore.  217 

and  very  early  on  that  morning,  to  the  time  when  Stanley 
and  Mite  heard  the  splash  in  the  vater  alongside,  followed 
by  the  rifles'  ring  and  the  wild  sh  _>ut  on  board  of, 

"  Escapado — Ha  escapado  !  " 

Sambo,  for  it  was  no  other,  had  acted  his  part  well.  He 
had  seen  the  "young  massa"  and  Mite  taken  to  the  cells 
4^'er  vhe  trial,  and  well  he  knew  what  the  sentence  had 
been.  From  that  very  moment  he  determined  to  escape, 
and  to  endeavour  to  do  all  in  his  power  to  effect  their 
rescue.  The  song  he  had  raised  in  the  stillness  of  night 
was  part  of  his  plan.  The  writer  of  these  lines  knows 
from  experience  that  Spaniards  are  not  slow  to  draw  and 
use  the  cutlass  against  unarmed  men.  Sambo  knew  so 
too.  He  had  not  reckoned  without  his  host  either.  That 
was  a  cruel  blow  the  sentry  aimed  at  his  unprotected  head. 
What  matter  though  he  killed  him,  so  reasoned  the  marine, 
he  was  only  a  nigger,  and  a  pirate  to  boot !  But  Sambo 
held  his  hands  up,  and  the  blow  fell  crashing  between 
them,  severing  the  manacles ;  then  Sambo  fell  backwards 
with  a  groan,  and  laughing  to  himself  the  sentry  resumed 
his  watch.  Sambo  laughed  to  himself  also.  In  ten 
minutes  more  both  his  hands  and  feet  were  free,  then  he 
glided  snake-like  to  the  foot  of  the  ladder,  taking  advantage 
of  every  shadow.  His  friend  the  sentry,  who  had  so 
kindly  attempted  to  split  his  skull,  stood  right  at  the  foot 
of  the  ladder,  gazing  up  towards  the  sky.  Sambo  was  not 
revengeful,  but  this  fellow  was  in  his  way,  so  he  dealt 
him  a  blow  with  his  clenched  fist  that  felled  him  to  the 
deck. 

Although  splendid  swordsmen  as  a  rule,  Spaniards  do 
not  excel  with  the  rifle,  and  though  the  night  was  clear 
and  starry  Sambo  was  perfectly  safe.  The  shore  was  not 
very  far  off,  and  he  soon  reached  it,  and  was  well  hidden 
in  the  bush  before  the  boat  was  lowered  to  give  him  chase. 

Once  fairly  in  the  woods,  Sambo  sat  down  to  think.  His 
young  massa  must  be  saved  at  all  risks.  But  how  ? 


2i8  Stanley  Grahame. 

Nothing  could  be  done  in  the  village,  where  all  were 
against  him.  Ha !  he  had  it.  Happy  thought !  To  go 
straight  away  north  through  the  woods  until  opposite  the 
Comoro  Islands ;  here,  at  Johanna,  some  British  ship  was 
sure  to  be,  perhaps  the  Tonitru  herself.  To  make  up  his 
mind  was  with  Sambo  to  act.  There  was  not  a  moment 
to  lose.  Perhaps  at  daylight  the  woods  would  be  scoured 
to  find  him.  He  started  to  his  feet,  took  off  his  cummer- 
bund and  wrung  the  water  from  it,  and  replaced  it  round 
his  loins,  then  with  just  one  quick  glance  starwards,  with 
just  one  prayer  on  his  lips  to  the  Great  Father,  who  is  no 
respecter  of  persons,  and  can  show  mercy  to  the  black 
man  as  well  as  the  white,  he  started  off  and  away  through 
the  forest  with  almost  the  fleetness  of  a  hunted  deer,  and 
before  morning  broke,  and  the  great  sun  rose  red  over 
the  purple  sea,  he  stood  on  a  distant  hill-top,  from  which, 
to  his  joy,  he  could  see  the  tips  of  the  far-off  mountains 
of  those  romantic  islands  in  which  his  present  hopes  were 
centred.  Sambo's  breakfast  consisted  of  a  root  that  he 
dug  from  the  ground,  and  a  draught  of  cocoa-nut  milk. 
He  rested  for  an  hour,  for  well  he  knew  he  must  conserve 
all  his  strength  for  his  dear  young  massa's  sake.  Then  he 
resumed  his  journey.  He  had  a  broad  river  to  swim. 
The  *water  was  brackish,  for  it  was  at  no  great  distance 
from  the  sea-bar ;  and  here  were  monster  sharks  in  dozens 
— he  could  see  their  fins  over  the  water  and  hear  them 
plash  and  gambol,  for — woe  is  me  ! — even  sharks  play 
at  times,  and  they  never  seem  more  inclined  to  do  so 
then  n-hen  there  is  a  chance  of  a  feed  on  human  flesh, 
bambo  feared  them  not — he  was  black,*  they  would  not 
touch  him.  He  avoided  ttn  mangrove  swamps;  he  had 

*  The  belief  that  sharks  will  not  attack  a  black  man  is  a  very 
common  one  on  the  coast.  I  have  my  doubts  of  the  truth  of  this  ;  but 
I  have  seen  a  Krooman  dive  into  a  river  infested  by  these  monsters 
after  an  officer's  cap,  and  come  back  sound  in  wind  and  limb,  and 
smiling. 


Sambo  to  the  Fore.  219 

an  idea  that  crocodiles  were  not  so  fastidious  in  their 
tastes  as  sharks,  so  he  kept  to  the  woods  and  the  open. 
In  two  days'  time  Sambo  had  reached  a  part  of  the  coast 
almost  opposite  the  Isle  of  Johanna.  But  how  to  get 
there,  that  was  the  puzzle.  He  walked  onwards  by  the 
sea-beach,  but  coming  presently  to  another  mangrove 
forest,  he  made  a  detour  and  finally  found  himself  at  the 
top  of  a  creek.  It  was  almost  entirely  surrounded  by 
forest,  so  he  kept  well  away  from  the  water's  edge,  and 
concealed  himself  in  the  banana  groves.  By-and-by  he 
heard  voices,  and  then  there  passed  his  hiding  place  a 
procession  that  he  knew  only  too  well  the  meaning  of — 
Arab-driven  slaves  fastened  by  the  necks  by  chains  and 
bamboo  collars,  male  and  female,  young  and  middle-aged. 
Newly  come  from  the  interior,  evidently,  for  their  feet  and 
legs  were  cut  and  torn,  and  their  sad  dejected  faces  told 
a  tale  of  woe  which  Sambo  could  read  at  a  single  glance. 
How  he  longed  to  set  them  free,  to  spring  at  the 
throats  of  those  brutal  Arabs,  strangle  them  where  they 
stood,  and  cast  their  bodies  into  the  creeks  to  feed  the 
sharks ! 

He  dared  not  move.  Nor  did  he  move  all  that  day; 
but  when  the  kindly  stars  shone  out  again  he  crept  from 
his  place  of  concealment  and  made  his  way  cautiously 
along  the  creek.  It  was  not  simply  one  long  arm  of  the 
sea,  this  creek,  but  rather  a  series  of  branching  gulfs, 
and  some  were  almost  hidden  by  the  trees  that  grew 
by  the  banks,  so  narrow  were  they.  In  one  of  these 
Sambo  noticed  lights,  and  soon  perceived  that  he  was  close 
alongside  a  small  rakish-looking  brig  that  had  her  topmasts 
struck — the  better  to  effect  her  concealment.  There  was 
a  boat  floating  astern  of  her,  attached  by  a  painter. 

Now,  in  what  followed  I  do  not  mean  for  a  moment  to 
defend  Sambo's  morality.  I  only  describe  what  actually 
occurred,  and  the  reader  is  quite  at  liberty  to  condemn  the 
poor  faithful  fellow  if  he  chooses. 


22O  Stanley  Grahame. 

Sambo,  then,  lowered  himself  gently  into  the  water,  then 
he  got  on  board  the  boat.  "  Fust-rate  !  "  he  said  to  him- 
self, "  nuffin  could  be  nicer  nor  dis  is ;  oars  and  sails  and 
mast  all  complete.  Yes,  I  borrow  dis  boat  for  a  little  time. 
Must  have  somfin'  to  eat,  though." 

So  saying,  Master  Sambo  went  ashore  again,  and  pre 
sently  came  back  laden  with  a  dozen  green  cocoa-nuts  and 
an  immense  bunch  of  bananas.  These  he  carefully  placed 
in  the  boat ;  then,  cutting  the  painter  with  a  knife  that  he 
found  in  the  boat,  he  seized  the  overhanging  branches  one 
by  one,  and  so  quietly  glided  away  seawards.  There  was 
a  slight  breeze,  and  as  soon  as  he  was  fairly  clear  of  the 
trees  he  stepped  his  little  mast,  shipped  his  rudder,  and 
hoisted  the  sail. 

Now  Sambo  was  a  good  sailor — this  the  reader  already 
knows;  but  to  attempt  to  cross  from  the  mainland  to  the 
distant  islands  of  Comoro  in  an  open  boat,  even  under 
the  most  favourable  circumstances,  was  a  task  at  which 
even  the  boldest  mariner  that  ever  sailed  the  sea  might 
be  pardoned  for  hanging  fire.  But  Sambo  never  dreamed 
of  anything  else  save  success ;  and  so,  when  far  away  from 
land,  he  even  prayed  that  the  breeze  might  increase,  and 
he  damped  his  sail  with  water  from  the  sea  that  it  might 
draw  the  better.  Although  from  the  hill-top  on  the 
mainland  he  had  been  able  to  see  the  far-off  island 
mountains,  here  at  sea  they  were  not  visible ;  there  was 
therefore  nothing  to  guide  him  save  the  sun  by  day  and 
the  stars  that  shone  at  night.  But  land  came  in  sight 
at  last,  though  farther  to  the  north  than  he  had  expected  ; 
he  had  not  counted  on  the  currents.  Yet,  nothing  daunted, 
he  altered  his  course  somewhat,  and  made  use  of  the  oar? 
as  well.  Had  he  been  content  with  his  sail,  misfortune 
might  not  have  befallen  him.  It  was  easy  enough  to  pull 
an  oar  at  one  side  and  take  charge  of  the  tiller  with  his 
naked  foot,  but  seated  thus  he  could  not  easily  look 
ahead  of  him,  and  so  did  not  perceive,  until  too  late,  tbv 


Sambo  to  the  Fore.  221 

approach  of  one  of  those  white  squalls  that  are  the  terror 
of  seamen  in  the  Indian  Ocean.  The  sail  flapped  listlessly 
for  a  moment,  then,  before  he  had  time  to  take  it  in,  the 
squall  was  on  him  in  all  its  force,  the  canvas  was  rent 
in  ribbons,  and  the  boat  capsized. 

For  two  whole  hours,  until  the  storm  passed  away  and 
sky  and  sea  were  once  more  serene,  Sambo  clung  to  the 
keel  of  his  boat.  Then,  after  great  exertions  and  many 
failures,  he  managed  to  right  her  again,  and  clambering 
on  board,  he  succeeded  in  baling  her  out.  But,  alas ! 
his  oars  were  gone,  as  well  as  the  mast  and  sail,  and 
even  the  cocoa-nuts  and  bananas,  on  which  his  very  life 
depended,  had  been  washed  away. 

He  was  helpless  now,  and  hopeless.  All  day  and  all 
next  night  he  drifted  about  he  knew  not  whither ;  but 
when  daylight  came  at  last,  there  was  no  land  in  sight 
an3'where,  only  water — only  the  quiet  blue,  heaving  bosom 
of  the  great  ocean.  He  never  thought  of  food,  but  the 
thirst  was  terrible  to  endure.  His  mouth  was  parched, 
his  lips  and  tongile  swollen,  his  eyes  seemed  balls  of  fire, 
and  at  length  he  sank  down  exhausted  in  the  bottom  of 
the  boat,  and  darkness  seemed  to  overwhelm  him.  Was 
it  the  darkness  of  death  ?  No,  for  he  began  to  dream ;  he 
was  back  again  at  the  old  plantation,  his  "  young  massa  * 
was  with  him ;  they  had  been  out  in  the  forest  all  day 
shooting,  and,  tired  and  somewhat  weary,  they  must  bend 
down  over  a  clear  purling  brooklet,  and  drink.  How  cool, 
how  refreshing  was  that  draught ! 

"I  hope  you  feel  better  now,"  said  his  "young  massa." 

Sambo  opened  his  eyes.  It  was  not  Stanley  that  had 
been  talking  to  him,  then.  No ;  a  kind-hearted  British 
sailor  was  bending  over  him,  and  he  was  lying  on  the 
white  deck  of  an  English  man-of-war." 

"  Drink  a  little  more,"  said  the  sailor. 

Sambo  did  so,  and  sat  up,  looking  wildly  and  amazedly 
around  him. 


222  Slamey  Grahame. 

The  sailor  replied  to- Sam  bo's  look  by  telling  him  they 
had  found  him  in  his  boat  only  an  hour  since — that  he 
was  now  on  board  the  Tonitru,  bound  for  Zanzibar. 

"  Zanzibar,"  cried  Sambo,  springing  to  his  feet.  Weak 
though  he  was,  his  strength  for  a  moment  returned. 
"  Zanzibar  !  No,  no,  not  dere,  sah,  not  dere  !  " 

Then,  talking  so  quickly  as  to  be  hardly  intelligible, 
he  told  the  officers,  who  had  now  gathered  round  him, 
everything  that  had  occurred  since  the  dhow  and  the 
Tonitru  had  parted  company. 

Stanley  and  Mite  in  danger  of  death !  And  such  a 
death  ! 

The  officer  of  the  watch  did  not  stop  to  hear  the  conclu- 
sion of  Sambo's  tale. 

He  hurried  to  the  bridge.  "  Ready  about  ! "  he  cried. 
"  Stand  by  tacks  and  sheets  ! " 

Then  the  order  was  given  to  get  up  steam  with  all 
speed. 

Within  the  next  few  hours  Sambo  was  made  to  repeat 
his  tale  a  dozen  times  over  at  least,  both  in  the  captain's 
cabin  and  in  every  mess  on  board.  For  the  time  being 
he  was  the  hero  of  the  Tonitru. 

The  end  of  all  this  was  that  next  afternoon,  at  the  very 
moment  when  Stanley  and  Mite  were  marching,  hand-in- 
hand,  to  a  doom  that  it  seemed  no  power  on  earth  could 
intervene  to  avert,  the  saucy  old  Tonitru  steamed  round 
the  point  and  commenced  firing  the  usual  salute  to  the 
Portuguese  flag. 

A  boat  was  lowered  with  all  haste,  and  the  captain 
himself  set  out  for  the  shore,  even  before  the  guns  had 
well  commenced  firing.  But  would  this  hinder  the  execu- 
tion ?  Not  for  a  moment ! 

From  the  poop,  in  the  position  the  Tonitru  now  occupied, 
the  Spanish  firing  party  were  distinctly  visible,  and  it  was 
evident  from  their  movements  they  had  just  got  the  order 
to  load. 


Just  in   Time.  223 

Pen  was  now  in  charge.  He  hurriedly  beckoned  the 
gunner,  and  pointed  shorewards  to  the  soldiers. 

"  There !  "  he  cried ;  "  quick,  if  ever  you  were  quick 
in  your  life.  Throw  a  shell  in  there.  Quick  and 
steady." 

The  gunner  required  no  second  bidding.  The  firing 
party  on  shore  had  just  received  orders  to  present.  Their 
pieces  were  levelled,  when  "  hursh  ! "  came  that  shell. 
Was  it  an  earthquake,  or  had  the  world  suddenly  come 
to  an  end  ?  ^he  dreadful  missile  burst  with  a  roar  louder 
than  a  thunderclap,  right  in  front  of  them,  and  buried 
itself  partially  in  the  ground,  where  it  made  a  hole  that 
would  have  held  a  house,  while  the  stones  and  debris  it 
threw  up  literally  buried  the  soldiers  alive. 

No  one  was  killed,  many  were  hurt,  and  before  the  com- 
motion ceased  the  captain  of  the  Tonitru  was  on  the  ground. 
Even  he  was  astonished  at  the  turn  matters  had  taken — 
astonished,  but  certainly  not  sorry,  albeit  he  afterwards 
confessed — confidentially  to  his  officers — that  he  had  never 
before  seen  a  foreign  flag  saluted  in  such  a  slapdash 
fashion. 

But  look,  some  one  else  suddenly  appears  on  the  scene. 
It  is  that  ubiquitous  boy  Green,  and  he  now  stands  ic 
front  of  his  captain.  A  pitiable  appearance  he  presents, 
for  he  has  just  escaped  from  the  prison  in  which  he  had 
been  confined,  his  clothes  torn,  his  hair  disordered,  and 
wrists  and  ankles  bleeding. 

"  Guess  I'm  in  time,"  he  sneered,  "  to  turn  the  tables  on 
that  there,  old  beak." 

This  was  the  way  he  alluded  to  the  captain  of  the  Don 
Carlos. 

"  Here's  the  letter,  sir.  I  took  it.  I  rolled  some  nuts  and 
things  in  it,  and  it's  been  a-tumbling  over  upon  my  con- 
science ever  since,  sir. 

"  They  put  me  in  gaol.  But  it  ain't  a  furrin  gaol  as'll 
hold  boy  Green,  I  guess,  when  he's  innocent.  There's  the 


224  Stanley  Grahame. 

ietter,  sir,  and  I  hopes,   sir,  as  how  you'll  'ang  the  lot  of 
'em,  'specially  the  old  beak." 

After  this  strange  address  the  boy  Green  rushed  off  to 
get  rid  of  his  extra  steam  by  dancing  round  the  rescued 
Stanley  and  Mite. 


XVIII. 

PREPARATIONS  FOR    THE    MARCH  INTO    THE 
INTERIOR— BIVOUAC  IN  ZANZIBAR  WOODS. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

PREPARATIONS    FOR   THE  MARCH   INTO   THE   INTERIOR BIVOUAC 

IN    ZANZIBAR    WOODS. 

IT  was  just  two  years  and  a  day  after  the  events 
recorded  in  last  chapter,  and  the  Tonitru  lay  at 
anchor  in  the  roadstead  off  Zanzibar.  There  were  many 
more  ships  besides  her  lying  there  on  that  bright,  still, 
lovely  afternoon.  The  Sultan's  flagship,  an  immense  old 
tub  of  a  concern,  that  a  single  shot  from  a  British  gunboat 
would  suffice  to  sink,  and  several  other  craft  belonging  to 
that  potentate,  a  graceful,  airy-looking  French  frigate,  a 
sugar-ship  or  two,  the  Seychelles  mail  boat,  and  a  whole 
fleet  of  dhows  of  all  descriptions  and  every  size. 

The  day  had  been  a  hot  one,  but  the  sun  was  now 
declining  in  the  west,  and  a  gentle  breeze  had  set  in 
landwards,  enough  to  cool  the  heated  air  and  raise  a 
ripple  on  the  water ;  and  standing  on  the  Tonitnfs  deck 
one  could  hear  tlje  waves  breaking  musically  on  the  sandy 
beach  that  formed  the  city's  foreshore.  There  was  not  a 
cloud  in  all  the  blue  sky;  the  long  line  of  flat-roofed, 
imposing-looking  buildings  stood  out  sharp  and  clear 
against  it,  their  whiteness  relieved  by  here  a  waving  flag, 
and  there  a  clump  of  feathery  palm-trees.  By-and-bye 
those  flags  would  be  furled,  for  the  sun  would  set;  then, 
though  not  a  sound  came  from  seawards,  the  city  itself 
would  awake  from  its  siesta — awake  to  the  beating  of 
tom-toms,  the  sound  of  wild  music,  and  strange  wild 
revelry,  the  shriek  of  Arab  sentinels,  and  later  on  in  the 


228  Stanley  Grahame. 

night,  perhaps,  to  cries  that  it  has  often  made  my  blood 
curdle  to  listen  to,  but  which  neither  I  nor  any  one  else 
could  ever  explain. 

But  here  we  are  on  board  the  Tonitru,  and  here  is  Mite 
walking  the  quarter-deck  with  the  doctor  and  Pendragon. 
Not  much  difference  is  there  in  Mite  since  we  last  met 
him — a  little  ruddier  and  a  trifle  rounder,  but  not  an  inch 
bigger,  he  is  still  the  Tonitru 's  midshiptnife,  although  he 
has  been  expecting  to  be  promoted  to  the  rank  of  full- 
blown sub-lieutenant  for  the  last  six  months. 

There  is  no  difference  in  the  doctor  and  no  difference  in 
Pen  either ;  and  here  comes  boy  Green — well,  I  think  he 
has  grown  fully  an  inch,  but  he  certainly  has  not  out- 
grown his  independence  nor  his  impudence  either.  But 
he  has  come  to  be  a  sort  of  a  favourite  on  board  ;  the 
surgeon  forgives  him  now  when  he  burns  the  poultices, 
smashes  the  bottles,  or  puts  sugar  instead  of  salt  in  the 
patients'  beef-tea.  He  does  not  get  quite  so  many  rope's- 
endings,  and  he  does  not  have  his  hair  cut  more  than  once 
a  week,  perhaps.  But  this  is  what  the  boy  Green  said  to 
the  doctor  one  day. 

"Humph  !  "  he  grinned,  "  I  guess  you  may  all  be  proud 
o'  me  and  thankful  to  me  too ;  if  I  'adn't  found  that  letter 
it  ain't  likely  you  could  'ave  condemned  that  Spanish  slave- 
ship  ;  there  was  nothin'  else  agin  her  as  I  knows  on,  and 
Mr.  Grahame  and  the  little  officer  might  'avc  got  hung 
arter  all — humph  !  " 

"You  abandoned  little  rascal,"  the  doctor  had  replied, 
'you  forget  that  you  stole  that  letter  in  the  first  place!" 

"  Stole  !  "  cried  that  irrepressible  boy — "  what  do  you 
mean  by  '  stole  '  ?  I  only  took  the  letter  to  put  them  'ere 
nuts  and  things  in.  Where  else  was  I  going  to  put 'em, 
eh  ?  I  ax  yc  that.  No  London  beak  would  conwict  upon 
such  evidence.  No,  sirree." 

Now,  there  is  one  thing  you  would  have  noticed  hqd 
you  been  on  board  the  Tonitru  that  afternoon — namety, 


Preparations.  229 

that  there  was  something  unusual  up.  You  would  have 
guessed  that  much  from  the  more  than  usually  animated 
manner  Mite  talked  and  walked.  Besides,  Mite  was  in 
mufti.  He  carried  a  double-barrel  central-fire  gun  over 
his  shoulder,  and  there  was  a  mysterious-looking  bag  slung 
across  his  chest ;  even  his  coat  had  "  a  knowing  look  about 
it,"  as  an  American  would  say,  and  his  nether  garments 
were  of  the  cut  and  fashion  adopted  by  bicyclists. 

"The  whaler  is  all  ready,  sir,"  said  the  coxswain,  coming 
up  and  touching  his  hat  to  Mite. 

"  Thank  you,"  was  the  reply,  when  just  at  that  moment 
Stanley  himself  came  aft  and  joined  the  group.  How 
handsome  he  looked  !  He  has  filled  out  since  we  last 
saw  him ;  he  is  more  hardy  in  appearance,  and  his  skin  is 
tanned  to  a  healthy  red.  He  is  inches  bigger  than  even 
Pen,  and  Mite  has  to  look  a  long  way  up  to  his  big  brother 
Stan,  as  he  calls  him. 

"  You're  all  ready,  I  see,  Mite,"  he  says,  quietly. 

"  Been  up  here  for  hours,"  says  Mite. 

"Good-bye,"  cry  the  doctor  and  Pen,  leaning  over  the 
bulwarks  after  their  two  friends  are  seated  in  the  boat. 

"Good-bye.  Take  care  of  yourself,  Stan,  and  mind  the 
mosquitoes  don't  devour  poor  little  Mite." 

Ten  minutes  after  Stanley  and  his  friend  Mite  stood 
alone  on  the  beach,  and  the  boat  was  pulling  back  towards 
the  ship.  They  were  alone  to  all  intents  and  purposes, 
for  no  white  man  was  near  them,  only  a  group  of  warm- 
looking,  not  over-dressed  negro  boys,  soliciting  pice. 

"Yonder  is  the  Glasgow  ship,"  said  Stanley,  pointing  to 
a  smart-looking  craft  that  lay  in  the  bay,  "  but  I  see  no 
signs  of  any  stir  on  board,  so  very  likely  Ooke  and  the 
others  have  landed  and  gone  on  before." 

"  All  the  better,"  said  Mite.  "  We  can  talk  to  our  two 
selves.  Come  on.  Isn't  it  glorious  to  be  free  of  the  service 
for  a  time,  brother  Stan  ?  " 

"  Well,"  replied  Stanley,  "  I  don't  know.     Life  on  board 


2.}o  Stanley  Grakame. 

ship  is,  I  must  confess,  a  little  irksome,  but  you  and  I  have 
had  it  pretty  much  our  own  way,  haven't  we  ?  " 

"  That  we  have,  Stan,  and  I  think  it  so  good  of  Captain 
Orbistone  to  give  me  six  months'  leave." 

"  You  have  the  doctor  to  thank  for  part  of  that  good  luck, 
Mite." 

"Yes,"  said  Mite,  "he  did  a  deal,  I  know.  Dear  old 
Sawbones  !  I'm  sure  he'll  miss  me." 

"I  should  think  he  would,"  said  Stanley,  laughing.  "  He'll 
miss  the  horrid  row  you  always  made.  He'll  have  a  little 
peace  in  his  life  now,  poor  fellow.  Hullo  !  here  we  are  at 
old  Portuguese  Joe's.  Good  afternoon,  Joe.  Seen  any- 
thing of  our  friends  ?  " 

"They  come  here,  sir,  one  long  time  ago,"  replied  the 
tall,  dark  keeper  of  a  semi-civilised  eating-house,  with  a 
friendly  nod.  "They  have  coffee,  wait  more'n  an  hour, 
then  they  go  on  to  de  bush.  They  say  you  know  de  road, 
and  dat  you  sure  to  follow." 

"  That  we  will,  Joe,"  said  Stanley,  "  as  soon  as  we  have 
tasted  a  cup  of  your  excellent  coffee.  There  is  nobody  in 
the  wide  world  can  make  it  half  so  well,  Joe." 

Joe  smiled,  showing  a  set  of  teeth  of  alabaster  whiteness. 
Then  he  hurried  away,  but,  returning  presently,  he  placed 
before  them  tiny  cups  of  black  Arab  coffee,  the  very  aroma 
of  which  was  most  fragrant  and  refreshing. 

Having  done  justice  to  this  delicate  repast,  the  two 
friends  hurried  on  again. 

Out  and  away  along  the  strange,  narrow,  windowless 
streets,  and  by  many  a  winding  short  cut  known  only  to 
those  who  have  resided  for  many  a  month  in  thi?  strange 
city,  till  they  found  themselves  in  an  avenue  of  shops. 
Not  such  shops  as  you  are  likely  to  find  anywhere  out  of 
Zanzibar,  although  some  in  the  old  part  of  Bombay  are  not 
unlike  them.  These  emporiums  have  neither  window  nor 
door.  The  fact  is,  each  shop  is  a  shed.  It  is  all  one  big 
window,  or  all  one  big  doorway,  as  you  like  to  call  it.  for 


"THKY  WKKE  AI.OXK  WITH  NATIJKI?  IN  TIIK  I;KAI;TIFI:I,  WOODS. 


Alone  in  the   Woods.  231 

there  is  nothing  in  front,  a"vi  on  the  floor  squats  the 
Hindoo,  Parsee,  Arab,  or  Banian  merchant,  quietly  smok 
ing  his  hubble-bubble.  There  is  nothing  very  inviting  in 
these  stalls  to  a  European  eye,  unless,  indeed,  you  are  on 
the  hunt  for  curiosities,  nor  is  there  anything  very  edible, 
with  the  exception  of  the  fruit.  That,  however,  would 
make  your  mouth  water  whether  you  were  hungry  or  not. 
The  long  street  was  as  crowded  as  a  Welsh  fair,  so  that 
Stanley  and  Mite  could  with  difficulty  push  their  way 
through.  And  what  a  motley  throng  it  was!  Natives 
from  every  land  of  the  East  seemed  to  be  here.  The 
blacks  dressed  only  in  the  cummerbund,  and  probably  a 
little  skull-cap  of  straw ;  the  Hindoos  in  robes  of  white 
and  gilded  turbans;  the  Parsees  in  more  respectable  black, 
with  head-dresses  bearing  a  wonderful  resemblance  to  the 
top  of  a  tin  whistle  ;  stately  Arab  soldiers,  with  handsome 
bold  faces,  and  hair  trailing  in  ringlets  adown  their  backs, 
with  cloaks  of  camels'-hair  depending  beneath  their  knees, 
and  spear  and  sword  and  pistols,  with  jewels  apparently 
stuck  in  every  place  where  there  was  the  slightest  chance 
of  their  stopping. 

Onwards  past  the  fish  market,  where  the  odours  did  not 
entice  them  to  linger,  past  the  market  devoted  to  beef  for 
meat-eating  Englishmen  and  other  Europeans.  There  the 
bluebottle  flies  seemed  to  have  it  very  much  their  own  way, 
and  our  heroes  were  fain  to  hurry  past  the  place  for  more 
reasons  than  one. 

In  one  short  half-hour  after  this  they  were  alone  with 
nature,  alone  in  the  beautiful  woods.  How  different  was 
everything  here  from  the  scenes  they  had  just  passed 
through  in  the  city,  where  man  in  his  savagery  held  sway. 
Everything  around  them  looked  as  pure  and  fresh  and 
lovely  as  if  it  had  but  newly  left  the  hands  of  the  great 
Maker.  Rain  had  recently  fallen  to  bless  and  fertilise  the 
ground  ;  the  tall  cocoa-palms  that  held  their  feathery  heads 
far,  far  aloft,  as  if  scorning  the  earth  from  which  they 


232  Stanley  Grahame. 

sprang,  glittered  green  in  the  evening  sunlight.  Mango- 
trees,  bigger  and  wider  than  the  mightiest  chestnuts  of  our 
own  parks,  drooped  their  branches  fruit-laden  towards  the 
ground  ;  and  here  was  tha  bread-fruit  tree,  the  orange,  the 
citron,  and  the  fragrant  lime-trees  covered  with  fruit,  and 
trees  begemmed  with  flowers,  and  everywhere  the  air  was 
perfumed  with  the  sweet  breath  of  the  orange-blossom. 

Soon  the  sun  would  set.  Already  the  splendidly  plumaged 
birds  were  seeking  with  peevish  cries  the  shelter  of 
the  loftiest  branches,  so  our  heroes  stopped  not  to  admire, 
but  hurried  onwards  through  the  woods.  The  path  was  a 
small  one  and  very  winding,  and  were  they  to  miss  it  but 
once  it  would  be  difficult, 'if  not  impossible,  to  find  it  again. 

"  We  cannot  be  far  off  now,"  said  Stanley,  at  last. 

"No,  I  don't  think  we  are,"  Mite  replied;  "suppose  I 
fire  my  piece,  then  we  can  shout,  you  know." 

"  All  right,  Mite,  fire  away.  I  know  you  are  anxious  to 
hear  the  sound  of  that  new  gun  of  yours.  Stop — what  arc 
you  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  I  was  going  to  hit  that  bird,  Stan." 

"  Oh  !  Mite,  it  would  be  cowardly." 

Mite  said  no  more,  but  fired  both  barrels  in  the  air. 

Then  they  shouted  and  listened.  And  presently  they 
were  answered,  for  borne  along  on  the  faint  evening  breeze 
came  a  long,  shrill,  and  quavering  yell. 

"That's  the  Arab,"  said  Stanley.  "No  British  lungs 
could  emit  a  shriek  like  that." 

They  left  the  path  now,  and  made  straight  in  the 
direction  from  which  the  sound  had  come,  sometimes 
stopping  for  a  moment  to  halloo,  then  going  on  again  as 
soon  as  they  were  answered.  In  about  ten  minutes  more 
they  were  in  the  company  of  their  friends,  who  had  come 
out  to  meet  them. 

Then  ensued  such  a  shaking  of  hands  as  surely  never 
was  witnessed  before  in  such  a  place. 

But  "  Sta  .1  y  !  "  was  the  cry.     Stanley  was  the  attraction 


An  Introduction. 

Mite  afterwards  told  his  friend  that  he  had  positively  felt 
nowhere  in  particular  just  then,  so  he  was  content  to  stand 
aside.  He  leant  upon  his  gun  and  waited. 

But  he  was  not  forgotten  long. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Stanley,  "  let  me  introduce  you  to  my 
friend,  brother,  countryman,  Midshipman  MacDermott,  o1 
her  Majesty's  cruiser  Tonitnt,  usually  called  Mite  for  short. 
Mite,  step  forward  here.  Mite,  behold  my  cousin,  Tom 
Reynolds,  a'  the  way  fra  Glaiska,  my  good  friend  English 
Bill,  another  importation  from  the  city  of  merchant  princes, 
and  Cooke,  whom  you've  seen  before." 

Then  there  was  more  handshaking,  and  a  good  deal  of 
laughing,  and  together  they  all  started  off  again  through  the 
woods.  They  had  not  gone  far,  however,  when  they  came 
to  a  wide  clearing,  in  the  centre  of  which  stood  two  tents,  a 
big  and  a  small,  and  not  far  off  several  others  still  smaller. 

A  tall,  handsomely-dressed  Arab,  armed  to  the  teeth,  and 
glittering  with  gold  and  jewellery,  stepped  forward,  and 
pressing  both  palms  to  his  brow,  bowed  gracefully  before 
Stanley  and  Mite. 

They  returned  the  salute. 

"Dinner  is  all  ready,"  said  Soolieman,  for  that  was  this 
Arab  warrior's  name — "  all  ready,  Sahib." 

"  Then,  my  good  Soolieman,"  said  Stanley,  "  lead  the  way, 
for  the  plain  truth  is  I'm  so  hungry  I  think  I  could  eat  a 
horse." 

"Well,"  said  Mite,  "I  myself  could  manage  a  good-sized 
Shetland  pony." 

"Well  done,"  cried  Tom  Reynolds — "well  done,  Mr. 
MacDermott !  Ye're  just  as  clever  as  my  cousin  Stanley, 
if  no'  a  deal  cleverer." 

Mite  stopped  short. 

"  Look  here,"  said  Mite. 

"Everybody  is  looking  there,"  said  Stanley.  "What 
have  you  got  to  say  that  you  stop  the  procession,  and  every- 
body dying  of  hunger  ?  " 


234  Stanley  Grahame. 

"Your  cousin  called  me  'Mr.  MacDermott,'"  said  Mite, 
pretending  to  be  dreadfully  serious;  "now  I'm  not  going  to 
stand  it,  Stan.  What  I  say  is  this — we  ought  to  begin  as 
we  mean  to  go  on.  I  may  as  well  be  *  Mite '  at  once  ;  it'll 
come  to  it,  you  know." 

"That's  right,"  said  Big  Bill — "that's  fair  and  manly. 
We're  all  in  one  boat." 

"Well,  then,"  Stanley  said,  "let  everybody  call  out  his 
own  name.  I'm  Stan." 

"Bill." 

"  Tom." 

"  Alf." 

"  Mite." 

"Sool." 

"  Sambo." 
•  "Brown." 

"Ha  !  ha  !  "  laughed  Sambo.  "I  is  de  only  chile  among 
you  dat  has  two  syllabubs  to  his  name.  Yah  !  yah  ! " 

The  boy  Brown — the  Sor.iali  Indian  or  Bosjesman  whom 
we  first  met  on  board  the  slave  dhow  Scyd  Pasha — was 
dressed  in  white  from  top  to  toe;  on  his  feet  he  wore 
sandals,  and  round  his  brow  a  turban.  This  was  to  dis- 
tinguish him  in  some  degree  from  the  other  so-called 
"boys"  of  this  memorable  expedition,  for  Brown  was, 
indeed,  an  important  factor.  He  was  to  guide  them  far 
inland  to  the  country  where  poor  Ida  and  her  father  were 
kept  prisoners. 

Once  inside  the  tent,  both  Stanley  and  Mite  opened  their 
eyes  in  wonder  and  delight,  for  neither  of  them  could  have 
believed  that  it  was  possible  to  arrange  such  a  feast  in  the 
wilderness. 

The  tent  was  conveniently  large,  but  had  it  been  twice 
the  size  the  lamps  that  depended  from  the  top  would  have 
furnished  ample  light.  It  was  lined  all  round  with  crimson 
silk.  The  floor  was  spread  with  a  carpet;  in  the  centre 
rose  a  table  about  fifteen  inches  high,  and  arourd  it  cushions 


The  Bivouac.  235 

were  placed  as  seats.  The  cloth  was  white  as  the  driven 
snow;  glasses  and  silver  sparkled  thereon  like  jewels  rich 
and  rare ;  in  the  centre  rose  an  cpergne  filled  with  the 
most  lovely  flowers  that  eye  ever  dwelt  on,  and  ferns  that 
seemed  to  have  been  culled  in  elfin-land,  so  graceful  and 
beautiful  were  they. 

Sool  stood  for  a  moment  with  a  pleased  smile  on  his  face, 
evidently  enjoying  the  bewilderment  and  admiration  dis- 
played on  the  faces  of  the  new  arrivals.  Then, 

"Pray  be  seated,  gentlemen,"  said  Sool. 

"  What  a  capital  caterer  your  are,  Sool,"  Stanley  re- 
marked more  than  once  that  evening,  and  no  wonder,  for 
he  had  expected  no  such  fare  as  this.  It  was  not  a  dinner, 
it  was  a  banquet  fit  for  a  prince  of  Ind.  Stanley  had  never 
dreamed  of  such  luxury,  never  read  of  anything  to  resemble 
his  surroundings  out  of  the  Arabian  Nights  Entertainments. 

"Sool,"  he  said  at  last,  "do  you  mean  to  keep  this  sort 
of  thing  up  ?  " 

"  I  do  fear  me  much  we  cannot  do  that,  sahib.  It  is  the 
custom  with  us  Arabs  to  live  well  while  we  can,  but  not  to 
grumble  too  much  when  Kismet  changes  our  bed  and  diet. 
Allah  is  great.  We  are  thankful." 

After  dinner  an  adjournment  was  made  to  the  woods  to 
sit  and  talk  until  Scol  should  prepare  the  tent  for  the  night. 

"Now  you  know,  Stan,"  said  Tom  Reynolds,  "I  want  to 
hear  some  o'  your  history  from  your  ain  mouth.  I've  got 
a'  your  letters  by  heart,  man.  Tell  us,  then,  what  you've 
been  doin'  for  the  last  twa  lang  years." 

"Well,"  replied  Stanley,  "  I  will  gladly  enough  do  that, 
but  though  it  is  very  pleasant  out  here  in  the  starlight,  and 
very  cool  and  nice,  still  I  like  to  see  people's  faces  when  I 
speak  to  them.  Suppose  we  wait  a  little  till  Sool  summons 
us  to  coffee." 

"  Ay,  you're  right  there,"  said  Tom  ;  "  we'd  better  bide  a 

Wee'"  *f 

They  had  not  long  to  wait.      Sool's  white^draped  figure 


236  Stanley  Grahame. 

soon  advanced  from  the  entrance  of  the  tent  to  tell  them 
their  couches  were  prepared. 

And,  indeed,  during  the  short  time  they  had  remained 
"  out  of  doors,"  as  Tom  called  it— for  Tom  was  but  little 
used  to  camp  life — Sool  had  transformed  the  tent  in  which 
they  had  dined  so  sumptuously  and  well  into  a  splendid 
sleeping  saloon.  In  a  semi-circle  round  one  end  of  it  were 
hung  hammocks  of  netted  grass  for  Stanley  and  his  friends, 
each  hammock  occupying  a  little  cabin  of  its  own,  so  far  as 
a  cabin  could  be  composed  of  curtains.  These  last  were 
composed  of  crimson  silk  lined  with  blue,  and  gracefully 
looped  up  so  that  the  interior  of  each  little  bedroom  was 
visible,  the  cool  white  sheets  in  the  hammock  seeming  to 
invite  to  repose. 

No  wonder  that  Tom  Re}rnolds  opened  his  eyes  in 
astonishment  when  he  saw  the  preparations  that  had  been 
made  for  their  comfort. 

"  Pshaw ! "  he  cried  ;  "  this  is  grand,  this  is  wonderful. 
It  beats  the  best  hotel  in  the  whole  great  city  o'  Glaiska.  I 
couldna  have  believed  that  such  bountiful  livin'  or  such 
splendid  couches  could  have  been  prepared  in  the  wilder- 
ness. Man,  Stanley,  that  lang  nigger  Sool  must  be  a  vera 
clever  kind  o'  a  chiel." 

Stanley  and  Mite  laughed,  and  so  did  Cooke. 

"You'd  better  not  let  him  hear  you  calling  him  a  nigger," 
said  Stanley ;  "  perhaps  he  wouldn't  like  it.  Sool  is  a 
gentleman  Arab." 

"And  I  beg  the  gentleman  Arab's  pardon  wi*  a'  my  heart 
and  a  big  lump  o'  my  liver,"  exclaimed  Tom.  "I  wadna 
offend  the  poor  chiel  for  anything.  He  has  a  soul  as  well  as 
you  or  me,  Stan,  though  I  fear  it  is  a  sadly  benighted  one." 

"You  were  asking  me  about  what  I  have  been  doing  for 
the  last  two  years.  They  have  been  weary  years  to  me ; 
Mite  here  knows  this."  It  was  Stanley  who  was  speaking 
now.  "And  there  is  some  one  else  knows  it  too;  Sambo 
conic  in,  Sambo.  Don't  be  shy." 


Stanley's  Narrative.  237 

"  This  good  fellow,  Tom — and  I'm  speaking  to  you  too, 
Bill— saved  my  life  and  Mite's  to  begin  with." 

"  Dat  is  nuffin,  massa,"  said  Sambo,  "  nuffin  at  all.  You 
save  poor  Sambo's  life  once,  young  sah,  far  away  in  dear 
ole  Virginny.  Sambo  not  forget  dat." 

"  Our  very  first  thought  when  we  were  free  was  how 
best  we  could  succour  and  deliver  our  friends  in  captivity. 
To  set  up  an  expedition  at  once  was,  alas  !  beyond  my 
power  and  means.  We  had  no  money.  All  representations 
of  the  matter  to  the  British  Resident  in  Zanzibar  failed. 
Even  the  proof  that  both  Captain  Ross  and  his  daughter 
were  captives  was  not  enough  to  get  the  assistance  I 
required.  .  It  was  not  deemed  satisfactory,  and,  even  had 
it  been,  neither  poor  Ida  nor  her  father  was  an  English 
subject.  That  would  have  made  no  difference  could  I  have 
gained  a  hearing  from  my  countrymen  in  England,  but 
official  red-tapeism  prevented  that.  Then  I  wrote  to  uncle, 
and  six  months  afterwards  he  received  my  letter.  How  it 
had  not  been  delivered  sooner  I  cannot  tell.  I  know  now 
that  money  was  sent  out  by  him,  but  till  lately  it  had  not 
reached  me,  and  except  for  the  kindness  of  you,  Cooke,  I 
should  not  have  it  now. 

"  But,  Tom,"  continued  Stanley,  "  Sambo  and  I  deter- 
mined to  penetrate  all  by  ourselves  and  one  or  two  followers 
into  the  interior  of  Africa.  The  boy  Brown  was  our  guide. 
Of  our  dangers  and  our  sufferings  I  will  say  nothing.  I  am 
glad,  however,  we  undertook  the  journey,  perilous  and 
terrible  in  many  respects  though  it  was.  We  succeeded  in 
communicating  with  the  captives,  we  have  given  them  hope, 
and  now  with  Heaven's  blessing  we  will  set  them  free." 

"  And,"  said  Tom,  "  the  savages  really  kept  you  prisoner 
in  that  terrible  country,  so  well  named  the  Dark  Continent, 
ibr  a  whole  year  ?  Eh  !  man,  but  that  must  have  been 
dreadful ! " 

"  Yes,  it  was  certainly  not  agreeable,"  answered  Stanley  ; 
"  but  there  is  good  in  everything,  for  during  that  time  1 


238  Stanley  Grahame. 

managed,  by  means  of  our  Somali  guide-boy,  to  write  and 
receive  letters  from  our  friends,  and  but  for  this  I  never 
would  have  known  that  the  runaway  son  of  that  strange 
wild  woman  whom  I  met  on  the  moor  when  a  little  boy 
just  leaving  home  was  also  a  prisoner  along  with  Captain 
Ross  and  Ida." 

"Ay,  ay  ! "  exclaimed  Tom,  eagerly,  "that  was  strange — • 
wonderful !  but,  don't  you  see,  my  boy  Stanley,  how 
Providence  turns  things  round  for  good  ?  For  as  soon  as  I 
went  to  see  poor  daft  Jean — oh  !  you  should  have  seen  her, 
Stanley  ! — '  My  lost  laddie  found  ! '  she  cried  ;  '  tell  me — tell 
me  again  !  This  is  a  joyful  day  for  poor  daft  Jean.  My 
lang  lost  laddie,  that  I've  mourned  for  through  a'  these 
dreary  years!'  Then,  Stanley,  the  poor  creature  fairly 
broke  down  and  wept  like  a  bairn.  It  nearly  made  me  cry 
just  to  see  her.  Well,  cousin,  I  wrote  and  told  you  about 
the  gold  Jean  had  found  in  the  eirde  house.  How  long  it 
had  been  there  no  one  can  tell.  It  was  treasure-trove,  but 
after  the  Queen  had  her  share  there  was  enough  and  to 
spare,  not  only  to  pay  for  this  expedition,  but  to  keep  daft 
Jean — but,  oh  !  she  is  daft  no  langer,  Stan— and  her  son,  if 
ever  we  see  him,  comfortable,  as  long  as  it  pleases  Heaven 
to  spare  them." 

"  But  what  I  cannot  get  over,"  said  Stanley,  laughing, 
"is  your  coming  out,  and  honest  Bill  here,  though  I  could 
understand  his  venturing  abroad.  It  isn't  the  first  time. 
But,  Tom  Reynolds,  a  stay-at-home  like  you ! — a  quiet 
citizen  of  Glasgow  !  Why,  it  puts  me  in  mind  of 

"  Of  what,  cousin  ?  "  asked  Tom. 

"  Why,"  replied  Stanley,  "of  the  Glasgow  bailie  venturing 
to  trust  himself  among  the  wild  Rob  Roy  Highlanders." 


XIX. 

KN  ROUTE  FOR  THE  WILDERNESS— "BUMPING 
OVER  THE  BAR—LAMOO. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

EN  ROUTE  FOR  THE  WILDERNESS "  BUMPING "  OVER  THE 

BAR LAMOO. 

LONG  before  the  first  glimmer  of  light  appeared  in  the 
eastern  horizon,  while  the  stars  still  shone  as 
brightly  as  they  had  done  at  midnight,  ere  ever  there  was  a 
twitter  of  birds  among  the  branches  or  rustle  of  monitor 
among  the  dead  leaves,  Stanley  had  stolen  silently  from  his 
couch  and  quietly  left  the  tent.  At  so  early  an  hour  no 
one,  he  thought,  would  likely  be  astir.  No  one  was  awake 
in  the  tent,  as  the  silence,  broken  only  by  the  measured 
sound  of  the  breathing,  soon  convinced  him.  Just  within 
the  tent,  and  not  far  from  the  doorway,  each  on  his  mat  of 
grass-cloth,  lay  Sambo  and  Brown,  while  outside  pacing 
backwards  and  forwards  were  the  two  armed  Arab  sentries. 
Little  need  for  these  in  the  peaceful  woods  of  Zanzibar. 
By-and-bye  there  would  be,  however,  and  as  he  passed  them 
and  returned  their  salute,  Stanley  mentally  thanked  Sool 
for  being  so  careful,  even  before  the  expedition  had  actually 
commenced. 

Where,  he  wondered,  did  Sool  sleep  ?  His  little  tent  was 
empty,  and  he  was  nowhere  visible ;  indeed,  with  the 
exception  of  the  sentinels,  the  whole  camp  seemed  wrapped 
in  slumber.  Fires  of  wood  here  and  there  in  the  clearing 
still  gave  a  fitful  kind  of  light,  as  their  dying  embers  flickered 
and  glared  in  the  changeful  breeze.  Many  a  dusky  form  lay 
near  these  smouldering  fires,  for  warmth  it  could  not  bc; 
but  the  smoke  and  sparks,  that  ever  and  anon  formed  a 

16 


242  Stanley  Grahame. 

kind  of  cascade  over  their  bodies,  must  have  kept  mosquitoes 
and  insects  of  every  kind  well  at  bay. 

Stanley  moved  onwards  into  the  forest,  taking  the  little 
path  that  led  citywards.  When  far  enough  away  from 
camp  to  feel  entirely  alone,  he  seated  himself  on  a  fallen 
tree,  and  gave  himself  up  to  meditation  and  thought.  He 
seemed  to  take  a  review  of  his  whole  past  life  from  his 
earliest  boyhood  up  till  now.  How  filled  with  strange  and 
stirring  events  it  had  been ;  how  very  old  he  felt  as  he 
thought  of  them  all,  though  even  now  he  was  barely 
twenty-three  !  Young  in  years  it  is  true,  but  old  in  strange 
experiences.  What  a  long,  long  time  it  seemed  since  he 
used  to  sit  with  his  little  sister  away  up  in  leafland,  in  the 
summer  days  in  the  forest  of  Cairntrie.  "  Dear  sister,"  he 
said  to  himself,  "she  is  quite  a  little  woman  now,  though 
always  a  child  to  me.  And  my  poor,  pale-faced,  gentle,  loving 
mother — ah  !  how  precious  those  tears  she  shed  when  she 
bade  me  good-bye  last !  How  she  would  have  wished  me 
then  to  stay  at  home,  but  how  well  she  knew  that  it  was 
for  my  good  to  go  !  Her  prayers  have  saved  me  from  death 
— and  such  a  death  !  How  anxious  my  dear  old  uncle  will 
be  to  hear  of  my  success  !  '  Bring  back  with  you/  he 
says,  '  my  good  old  friend  Ross  and  his  daughter,  and  all 
I  have  is  yours  even  before  I'm  laid  under  the  daisies.'  " 

When  Stanley  Grahame's  thoughts  reverted  to  Ida  his 
heart  gave  a  great  jump  with  delight,  it  seemed  to  thud 
against  his  ribs  with  very  joy. 

"  Yes,"  he  cried,  half  aloud,  "  I  will  save  you,  Ida ;  I'll 
bring  you  out  from  the  terrible  slavery  you  are  undergoing, 
in  the  darkest  corner  of  that  dark  land.  With  Heaven's 
good  help,  1  will,  or  perish  in  the  trying.  Poor  Ida !  the 
thoughts  of  my  base  ingratitude  to  my  little  child-nurse, 
and  the  cruel  words  I  spoke  to  you  that  last  sad  day  at 
Beaumont  Park,  have  haunted  me  ever  since,  and  will 
continue  lo  haunt  me  until  I  hear  from  your  own  lips  that 
you  have  forgiven  me.  Ha  !  there  is  the  light  of  the  coming 


'HE   KNELT   POWN    liliMPB   THB    FALLEN    TREK. 


Prayer.  243 

morning  over  the  mainland.  It  will  soon  be  day.  I'm  all 
alone  here — I'll — pray." 

He  knelt  him  down  beside  the  fallen  tree,  and  hiding  his 
face  in  his  hands,  humbly  thanked  the  Father  for  all  His 
goodness  to  him  in  his  past  life,  earnestly  sought  His 
help  and  blessing  on  the  work  he  had  undertaken,  and 
ended  his  own  supplications  with  that  beautiful  prayer  that 
was  dictated  by  Him  who  spoke  as  never  man  spake.  He 
did  not  merely  repeat  that  prayer— he  prayed  it  every  word 
and  every  sentence  of  it,  bowing  low  but  hopefully  at  those 
grand  words  which  many  a  Christian  finds  so  hard  to  utter, 
"  Thy — will — be — done." 

When  he  got  up  from  his  knees,  Stanley  felt  every  inch 
a  man;  he  was  ready  now  for  whatever  might  happen,  for 
whatever  might  be  before  him,  and  he  even  glanced 
impatiently  eastwards  as  if  longing  for  the  sun  to  rise.  It 
was  dark  still,  however,  but  there  was  light  enough  to 
perceive  a  tall  figure  draped  in  white  coming  gliding  towards 
him,  not  from  the  direction  of  the  camp,  but  from  the 
deepest  part  of  the  forest. 

"  Who  goes  there  ?  "  cried  Stanley. 

"  Sool,"  was  the  reply. 

Next  moment  they  stood  hand  in  hand. 

Hand  in  hand  under  the  stars,  hand  in  hand  and  face  to 
face,  stood  these  two  brave  men.  Sool  had  a  bit  of  carpet 
over  his  right  arm,  and  Stanley  knew  that  he  had  been 
down  into  the  quiet  still  woods  to  pray.  They  both 
worshipped  at  the  same  throne,  both  adored  the  same  great 
Father ;  both  had  been  praying  to  Him,  though  in  different 
languages  and  words. 

"Soolieman,"  said  Stanley,  "something  tells  me  we  are 
going  to  be  successful." 

"  Stanley  Grahame,  Allah  is  good  and  great.  Allah  tells 
you." 

They   pressed   each   other's   hands    jusr    for   one   brief 


244  Stanley  Grahams, 

second ;  in  that  stern  clasp  heart  spoke  to  heart.     Words 
were  useless. 

"Sit  down  now,"  said  Stanley.  "We  have  still  a  few 
minutes  to  talk  before  sunrise,  and  we  are  alone.  I  need 
hardly  ask  you  now  if  everything  is  ready." 

"Everything  is  here,"  said    Sool ;     "nothing    has    been 
forgotten.     That,  sahib,  was  my  reason  for  camping  here 
one  night  before  we  start  for  the  mainland — to  see  that  we 
were  all  ready,  quite  prepared." 
"  And  the  boys,  Sool  ?  " 

"  Brave,  good.  I  have  brought  them  all  from  Lamoo. 
The  vile  fire-water  of  Zanzibar  has  never  warmed  their 
lips.  They  are  true,  I  have  tried  them.  They  know  chief 
Soolieman." 

He  smiled  sternly  as  he  spoke. 

"And  the  boats  and  ammunition,  and  merchandise  or 
presents  ? " 

"  All  ready,  sahib,  as  by-and-bye  you  will  see.  Boats 
have  been  put  together,  and  are  now  packed.  Not  a  bolt 
or  rivet  is  wanting,  not  a  rope,  not  an  oar  that  we  have  not 
got  a  duplicate  of.  Every  spear  is  ready,  every  gun,  and 
the  merchandise  and  presents  ready  for  carriage." 

"Thanks,  good  Sool.  Then  after  breakfast  if  the  dhow 
is  ready  we  will  start.'' 

"  The  dhow  is  all  ready  at  anchor.  We  can  embark  in 
one  hour.  Now,  sahib,  of  your  own  people  what  shall  I 
say  ?  what  shall  I  ask  ?  " 

"Whatever  you  like,  Sool;  I  shall  not  be  offended." 
"I  have  been  with  you,  Sahib  Stanley,  in  the  desert  and 
wilderness ;  Sahib  Mite  is  a  British  officer  ;  Sahib  Cooke  is 
a  sailor  ;  that  is  enough.     Bill,  as  you  name  him,  is  strong 
and  brave-looking  ;  he  will  do.     But  is  Tom  a  warrior,  a 
soldier  of  your  nation  ?  " 
Stanley  laughed. 
"  There  isn't  much  of  the  warrior  about  poor  Ton     my 


An  Inspection.  245 

cousin,"  he  said,  "  though  he  has  some  of  the  blood 
of  the  fighting  clan  Mackinlays  in  his  veins.  Suppose, 
my  dear  chief,  we  make  him  superintendent  of  the  stores, 
as  you  seem  doubtful  about  his  abilities  as  a  traveller, 
warrior,  and  sportsman." 

"  Good,"  said  Sool,  "  now  I  am  pleased.  Now  I  go  tc 
prepare  breakfast.  Look,  the  sun  comes." 

It  was  true.  The  glorious  sun  had  already  risen,  and  his 
red  disc  gleamed  through  the  branches  of  the  cocoa-palms 
as  if  his  beams  had  set  them  all  on  fire. 

About  five  minutes  after  this  Tom  Reynolds  rushed 
scared  and  breathless  out  of  the  tent  into  the  clearing  with 
his  night-dress  fluttering  about  him,  fcr  Stanley  had  com- 
menced to  play  a  solo  on  the  gong.  Low  at  first,  with 
muttered  growls  and  moans,  he  finally  made  it  roar  and 
bang,  till  there  wasn't  a  bird  in  the  woods  within  half  a  mile 
that  didn't  fly  shrieking  away  at  the  terrible  sound. 

"  Man  !  how  ye  scared  me  ! "  cried  poor  Tom.  "  I 
thought  a'  the  wild  lions  and  the  untamable  hyaenas  in  the 
forest  'o  Zanzibar  had  attacked  the  tent,  and  were  tearing 
everybody  limb  frae  limb." 

"  Bravo,  Tom  !  "  said  Stanley,  "  but  there  isn't  a  single 
lion  nor  a  hyaena  either  within  a  hundred  miles  of  you. 
Now,  off  you  go,  lad.  I'm  glad  I've  waked  you,  anyhow  ; 
but  the  dress  you're  now  showing  off  in  is  hardly  sufficient 
even  for  this  climate,  Tom." 

"  Ma  conscience  !  "  exclaimed  Tom,  "  till  this  vera  minute 
I  hadn't  a  notion  I  was  standing  here  half  naked." 

And  away  he  flew,  and  in  a  short  time  after  out  came 
Cooke  and  Mite  and  Big  Bill,  dressed,  and  ready  for  break- 
fast, and,  as  Stanley  assured  them,  looking  as  fresh  as  April 
daisies. 

Immediately  after  breakfast  a  grand  review  of  stores  was 
held,  and  the  whole  equipment  thoroughly  overhauled  and 
carefully  examined.  Stanley  then  assembled  his  "boys." 
Nearly  a  hundred  of  them  all  told  there  were,  counting 


246  Stanley  Grahame. 

carriers  and  spearmen.  He  also  did  what  was  a  most 
unusual  thing  for  Stanley — he  made  a  speech.  He  spoke 
in  the  Somali  language/  which  was  Greek,  and  worse  than 
Greek,  to  his  own  countrymen.  He  was  glad  to  see,  he 
said,  that  every  one  of  them  looked  so  brave  and  willing  to 
work.  Each  one  most  have  the  success  of  the  expedition 
at  heart.  Once  landed  on  the  mainland,  there  must  be  no 
going  back  until  they  had  accomplished  the  end  they  had 
in  view.  It  was  unlikely  that  they  would  all  return.  The 
dangers  they  had  to  encounter  were  many  and  varied,  but 
they  were  the  same  to  all — to  the  white  as  well  as  to  the 
dark-skinned  among  them.  And  who  feared  death  ?  His 
white  companions  did  not,  and  he  could  see  by  their 
countenances  that  they  (the  Somalis)  despised  all  danger. 
He  noticed  that  the  boys  were  divided  into  two  sections, 
carriers  and  spearmen,  but  this  must  be  more  a  distinction 
than  a  difference.  They  must  hang  together,  and  each  man 
help  his  neighbour.  Those  that  returned  to  Zanzibar  would 
have  riches  enough  to  buy  clothes  and  canoes,  and  live  in 
happiness  all  their  lives  to  come. 

Not  much  of  a  speech  this,  but  it  was  delivered  with  a 
manly  straightforwardness  that  appealed  to  the  very  hearts 
of  those  savages.  Some  grasped  and  shook  their  spears, 
others  clutched  and  shouldered  their  burdens,  and  one  and 
all  evinced  a  wish  to  be  off  without  further  delay. 

So  the  march  beachwards  was  begun. 

Three  hours  afterwards  the  dhow  that  contained  the 
expedition  was  heading  away  northwards,  the  green  islands 
around  Zanzibar  disappearing  on  the  southern  horizon,  and 
the  mainland  showing  as  a  mere  hazy  cloudland  miles  away 
on  their  weather  quarter. 

The  captain  of  the  dhow  was  a  tall,  wiry  Arab,  about  as 
different  from  an  Englishman's  beau-ideal  of  a  sailor  as  any 
one  could  well  be,  but  he  knew  these  seas  well,  and  every 
shoal  and  landmark;  and  he  knew,  too,  how  to  take  the 
advantage  of  every  breath  of  wind  that  blew.  Sometimes 


over  ike  Bar.  247 

he  crept  so  close  in  shore.that  the  leaves  could  be  counted 
on  the  mangrove-trees  that  fringed  the  beach,  and  at  other 
times  he  lay  well  off.  Such  navigation  quite  astonished 
even  Cooke,  but  nevertheless  just  three  days  after  leaving 
Zanzibar  they  found  themselves  outside  the  bar  of  Lamoo 
river,  and,  with  sails  well  filled,  steering  straight  to  what 
seemed  to  the  white  men  on  board  almost  certain  destruc- 
tion. There  were  long  lines  of  dark,  threatening  breakers, 
so  high  that,  as  the  dhow  neared  them,  they  quite  hid  the 
shores  at  each  side  of  the  river  from  the  view  of  those  on 
deck.  How  silently  and  insidiously  those  breakers  crept 
up  out  of  their  ocean  bed,  like  long,  slimy  monsters  of  the 
deep  ;  how  they  gathered  strength  and  size  as  they  rolled 
swiftly  onwards  towards  the  bar;  how  terrible  they  seemed 
in  their  might  as  their  perpendicular  sides  were  raised  on 
high,  their  sharp  crests  curling  in  anger  for  a  moment  ere 
the  whole  body  of  each  awful  wave  broke  into  foam,  and 
went  rushing  onwards  with  a  noise  like  muttered  thunder  ! 
On  that  bar  was  a  gateway  of  deep  water,  narrow  enough  in 
all  conscience ;  but  the  captain  of  the  dhow  must  steer  for 
it,  and  go  in  on  the  top  of  the  highest  wave  or  be  dashed 
in  pieces.  Well  he  knows  his  duty.  Look !  the  sturdy 
vessel  is  among  the  breakers,  destruction  seems  inevitable. 
She  is  shot  along  with  the  speed  of  an  arrow,  but  the  wave 
that  carries  her  so  far  recedes,  and  she  strikes  the  bottom. 
Not  a  man  on  deck  that  is  not  thrown  off  his  feet.  Again  and 
again  she  strikes,  and  it  seems  certain  she  will  go  to  pieces, 
when  suddenly  a  bigger  wave  than  all  the  others  catches 
her  under  the  stern,  and  hurries  her  along  with  a  speed 
that  makes  every  one  sick  and  dizzy.  The  water  breaks 
on  board.  For  a  few  moments  the  dhow  is  tossed  like  a 
cork  in  the  midst  of  a  mass  of  seething  foam.  She  reels 
from  side  to  side,  as  if  trying  to  shake  herself  clear  of  the 
blinding  surf,  the  sails  fill  again,  and  next  moment  she  is 
borne  into  the  still  and  placid  waters  beyond. 

I  think  I  am  right  in  saying  that  Tom  Reynolds  kept  his 


248  Stanley  Grahame. 

eyes  fast  closed  all  the  time  the  vessel  was  being  forced 
over  the  bar ;  but  now  when  he  ventured  to  look  back  on 
that  chaos  of  foam  and  those  fearful  walls  of  moving  water, 
his  teeth  positively  chattered,  and  his  eyes  were  opened 
wider  probably  than  ever  they  had  been  before  in  his 
life. 

"  Ma  conscience  !  "  said  Tom,  "  the  Fall  o'  Foyers  *  is 
nothing  to  that." 

They  were  now  in  the  centre  of  a  broad,  quiet  river,  with 
high  banks,  tree-clad,  on  every  side.  From  the  number  of 
boats  and  canoes  they  met  it  was  evident  they  were  not  far 
from  a  town  or  city  of  some  importance. 

In  less  than  two  hours  the  vessel  was  lying  at  anchor 
close  to  the  city  of  Lamoo.  Very  much  smaller  in  size  than 
Zanzibar,  with  quainter  and  more  romantic  streets,  and  a 
population  quite  as  mixed  and  quite  as  destitute  of  anything 
that  a  European  would  look  upon  as  civilisation,  Lamoo  is 
but  little  known  to  travellers,  but  nevertheless  it  well  repays 
a  visit,  and  the  sporting  artist  would,  in  the  city  itself  and 
the  country  around,  be  able  to  make  many  a  good  bag  and 
many  a  good  picture.  The  palace  of  the  sultan  is  by  far 
and  away  the  most  imposing  edifice  in  Lamoo.  The  sultan 
himself  is  by  far  and  away  the  most  imposing  looking 
individual  in  Lamoo.  Stanley  thought  so  when  that 
potentate  did  him  the  honour  of  visiting  his  encampment 
some  four-and-twenty  hours  after  his  landing.  Perhaps  the 
splendour  of  the  dress  of  this  Arab  sultan,  and  his  large 
retinue  of  friends  and  soldier-guards,  had  a  good  deal  to  do 
with  the  imposing  character  of  the  visit. 

The  sultan  deigned  to  squat  in  the  great  tent,  deigned  to 
soil  his  lips  with  a  mango,  and  even  to  sip  a  little  sherbet, 
smiling  all  the  while  upon  Stanley  and  Mite  in  a  manner 
that  was  meant  to  be  quite  impressive.  Yes,  the  Sultan  of 
Lamoo  seemed  pleased — without  doubt  he  did ;  but  if  he 
had  heard  and  understood  a  remark  made  behind  his  back  by 
*  A  celebrated  Scottish  cataract. 


Lamoo. 

innocent  Tom  Reynolds,  I  question  if  he  would  have  smiled 
quite  so  much.. 

"  Man  ! "  said  Tom  to  his  cousin,  "  what  a  grand-lookin' 
auld  nigger !  I  couldna  have  believed  there  were  such 
finely-dressed  savages  in  a'  the  world  !  " 

It  was  no  part  of  Stanley's  plan  to  stay  for  one  hour 
longer  than  was  necessary  near  this  city  of  Lamoo.  Indeed, 
had  not  Soolieman  advised  him  otherwise,  he  would  have 
commenced  the  march  into  the  interior  the  very  moment 
after  landing. 

"  This  would  not  do,  sahib,"  said  Sool,  "  the  Lamoo  boys 
would  follow — one,  two,  perhaps  three  hundred  of  them. 
They  would  steal,  then  fight  with  our  own  boys." 

So  at  midnight  the  camp  was  broken  up,  and  the  expedi- 
tion commenced  in  reality.  Sool  led  the  van  through  the 
forest-path,  striking  away  northwards  and  westwards  until 
they  reached  a  wide,  elevated,  arid  plain,  where  not  a  shrub 
and  scarcely  a  green  thing  grew.  Across  this,  guided  only 
by  the  stars,  they  took  their  way  in  silence.  They  had  left 
the  camp-fires  burning  so  that  their  departure  would  not  be 
discovered  until  daybreak,  and  they  hoped  to  leave  so  little 
trail  behind  them,  that  it  would  be  difficult  if  not  impossible 
for  any  one  to  follow  them. 

This  sudden  departure  from  their  camp  made  matters 
very  awkward  for  one  individual.  We  must  return  on 
board  the  dhow  to  find  out  who  this  was. 

The  captain  of  the  vessel  had  business  in  Zanzibar  that 
demanded  his  return  to  that  city  as  soon  as  possible,  so  he 
determined  to  take  advantage  of  the  evening  breeze  that  in 
these  latitudes  generally  blows  off  the  shore,  and  to  slip 
away  to  sea  soon  after  sunset.  But  long  before  this  he 
began  to  get  up  anchor  and  go  down  stream.  It  was  pretty 
dark  down  in  the  dhow's  hold  ;  it  wouldn't  have  been  a  nice 
place  in  which  to  live  for  any  length  of  time  under  any 
conditions,  but  to  be  cramped  up  for  two  days  and  two 
nights  in  an  empty  flour-cask,  in  the  blackest  nook  of  that 


250  Stanley  Grahamc. 

hold,  could  not  have  been  otherwise  than  irksome.  The 
conclusion  that  boy  Green  arrived  at  just  as  the  captain  of 
the  vessel  was  getting  up  anchor  was  that  the  sooner  he 
got  out  of  that  barrel  the  better. 

"  I've  done  a  lot  o'  stovvawayin'  in  my  time,"  he  said  to 
himself,  as  he  crawled  out  of  his  hiding-place,  "but  that  'ere 
barrel  's  been  about  the  crampiest  corner  ever  I  got  into. 
It's  been  plaguey  hot,  and  precious  dusty  too,  and  the  ship 
a  colly-wobbling  like  mad  !  The  cockroaches  more:n  lively, 
and  nothing  to  eat  all  the  while  but  this  old  ham-bone.  It 
ain't  half  picked  either.  Hullo  !  why  the  ship's  moving  ! 
I've  no  time  to  lose.  If  that  'ere  nigger  skipper  in  the  long 
nightgown  dares  to " 

He  ran  on  deck  without  finishing  the  sentence,  with  his 
ham-bone  in  his  hand. 

No  wonder  the  captain  started  and  looked  frightened, 
when  he  saw  emerging  from  the  companion  what  looked 
like  the  ghost  of  a  defunct  British  sailor,  for  boy  Green  was 
white  with  flour  from  his  cap  to  his  boots  ! 

"  Hullo  !  "  roared  boy  Green,  "  stop  the  ship — stop  her  ; 
ye  cawn't  go  yet,  I  tell  yer.  The  expedition  ain't  all  on 
shore  ;  the  best  'arf  of  it  is  here.  Stop  her  at  once  !  " 

When  boy  Green  grasped  the  captain  by  the  arm,  the 
Arab  knew  it  was  no  phantom,  but  a  young  wretch  of  a 
man-o'-war  sailor,  with  an  excessively  horny  fist,  so  he 
recovered  his  presence  of  mind  and  half  drew  his  sword. 

"  How  dare  you  touch  me,"  cried  the  captain,  "with  your 
infidel  fingers,  you  pig-eating  unbeliever  you  ?  " 

"  Easy  now,  my  friend,"  continued  the  boy  Green; 
"  easy,  I  tell  yer.  Who  are  ye  calling  names,  I  ax  yer  ? 
There's  a  picking  on  this  bone  yet,  or  I'd  make  you  better 
acquainted  with  the  thick  end  of  it.  Now  look  'ere,  old 
Kafoozlum  !  Do  you  know  who  you're  a-talkin'  to  ?  I  puts 
the  question  to  ye  calmly  and  quietly,  out  o'  pity  for  yer 
ignorance.  Now  do  you  know  who  I  am,  come  ?  " 

"Begone,  sahib!"  cried  the  Arab,  losing  all  patience — 


Impudence.  251 

"  begone,  I  tell  you,  out  of  my  dhow.  I  know  not  nor  care 
not  who  you  are.  I  say  begone,  before  I  plunge  my  sword 
into  your  breast !  " 

Then  that  saucy  boy  Green  put  his  ham-bone  under  his 
arm,  in  order  that  he  might  place  both  his  hands  un- 
trammelled into  his  breeches  pockets,  then  he  struck  an 
attitude  right  in  front  of  the  Arab,  with  his  legs  very  far 
apart,  and  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  captain's  face,  and 
positively  whistled  three  or  four  bars  of  a  bright  air  right 
at  him,  as  it  were,  before  he  spoke.  "I  whistles,"  said  the 
boy  Green,  "  to  show  my  hindiepcndence,  to  prove  to  you 
that  I  ain't  scared.  Now  answer  me  this,  old  Kafoozlum. 
Do  ye  'appen  to  know  what  the  penalty  is  for  threatening 
a  British  officer  ?  Course  ye  do ;  and  ye  daren't  draw  that 
cheese-knife  o'  yours  for  the  world.  Secondly,  do  ye  know 
that  I'm  an  English  subject  ?  Thirdly,  did  ye  ever  hear  of 
a  paper  called  the  Times  ?  No  ?  Shows  where  you've 
been  brought  up  !  Now,  then,  'pologise  quick  !  then  call 
away  a  boat  and  send  me  ashore.  I  don't  mind  dinin'  with 
yer  first,  though.  Eh,  Kafoozles  ?  Ha,  ha  1 " 

If  the  boy  Green  had  not  dug  his  thumb  into  the  Arab's 
ribs  by  way  of  emphasising  his  words,  matters  might  have 
ended  differently.  As  it  was,  the  fire  seemed  to  flash  from 
that  captain's  eye  as  the  sword  flew  from  its  scabbard. 

"  Darest  thou  ?  "  he  shrieked. 

I  do  not  know  where  that  boy  Green's  head  would  have 
been  next  moment  but  for  that  handy  ham-bone — it  came 
into  collision  with  the  Arab's  skull  with  resounding  force 
and  rolled  him  into  the  lee  scuppers. 

Twenty  spears  were  clutched  in  a  moment;  twenty  men, 
spear-armed,  rushed  pell-mell  at  the  boy  Green.  The  boy 
Green  hurled  the  ham-bone  at  the  hoad  of  the  foremost, 
and,  springing  aft,  he  cut  the  painter  of  the  boat  that  was 
drifting  astern  and  jumped  into  the  sea. 

The  confusion  on  board  was  too  great  to  allow  the  dhow's 
crew  to  do  anything  speedily  and  well,  and  boy  Green  had 


252  Stanley  Grahame. 

landed  and  kicked  the  boat  adrift  before  the  dhow  could  be 
stopped  or  rounded  to. 

Now  if  that  boy  Green  had  acted  wisely  he  would  have 
gone  off  at  once  and  reported  himself  in  camp  by  way  of 
making  the  best  of  a  bad  job.  But  no  ;  he  meant  to  enjoy 
himself  for  a  little  bit;  so,  as  soon  as  he  got  his  clothes  dry 
by  tumbling  on  the  sand  and  lying  in  the  sun,  he  turned 
his  face  towards  the  town,  hands  in  pockets,  whistling  as 
usual,  and  looking  altogether  as  unconcerned  as  though  he 
were  merely  taking  a  walk  along  Oxford  Street  instead  of 
among  a  race  of  semi-savages,  where  no  white  man's  life  is 
worth  an  hour's  purchase  after  sunset.  The  sun  was  not 
yet  set,  though,  and  would  not  be  for  an  hour,  and  that 
hour  boy  Green  seemed  bent  on  making  the  best  of. 

"Now,"  said  boy  Green  to  himself  "the  werry  first  thing 
to  be  done  is  to  try  to  get  summut  for  the  inner  man.  I'se 
precious  hungry,  I  is.  What  a  pity  I  parted  company  wi' 
that  'am-bone  !  There  was  a  good  pickin'  on  it,  too.  And 
it  was  quite  thrown  away  on  those  niggers.  Yes,  I'se 
hungry,  I  grant  ye; 'but  then  I'se  free  !  What  a  fine  thing 
it  is  to  be  free !  Nobody  to  scold  ye,  nobody  to  say, 
'  Silence  when  ye  speak  to  an  officer  ! '  nobody  to  tell  ye  to 
go  and  get  yer  'air  cut.  Yes,  freedom  is  a  fine  thing  I 
'Ullo  !  'ere  comes  'arf  a  dozen  little  nigger  boys  and  girls. 
I'll  get  behind  a  tree.  Won't  I  scare  'em  just  ?  " 


XX. 

BOY  GKEE.V  BEARDS  THE  LION  LV  HIS  DEN, 
AND  ENDS  BY  MAKING  A  DISCOVERY. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

BOY     GREEN     BEARDS     THE     LION    IN     HIS     DEN,     AND    ENDS    BY 
MAKING    A    DISCOVERY. 

"  "\  T  7  HY,  there  is  seven  on  them,"  said  boy  Green,  lying 
V  V  close  behind  the  bush.  "  Won't  I  scare  'em  just  ? 
Guess  they  never  saw  a  white  man  afore. 

"  Yah  !  young  niggers,"  he  screamed,  rushing  and  extend- 
ing both  arms  skywards.  "  Yah  !  yah  !  does  yer  mother 
know  you're  out  ?  Go  and  get  your  hair  cut.  Yah  !  yah  ! " 

Seven  little  niggers  shrieking  at  the  top  of  their  seven 
little  voices,  boy  Green  shrieking  louder  than  the  lot  of 
them.  Seven  little  niggers  flying  along  the  dusty  road,  boy 
Green  in  chase  of  the  seven  of  them.  Fine  fun  for  boy 
Green,  but  those  seven  poor  little  nigger  children  had  their 
seven  little  hearts  in  their  seven  little  mouths,  as  they  fled 
along  in  front  of  their  terrible  white  pursuer.  Those  little 
niggers  seemed  all  legs  and  arms,  eyes  and  mouths,  with  no 
bodies  at  all  to  speak  of.  They  took  to  the  woods,  so  did 
boy  Green,  and  the  seven  little  niggers  never  stopped  run- 
ning until  safe  in  their  little  village  of  bamboo  huts  beneath 
the  shade  of  the  plantains.  There  parrots  and  monkeys 
joined  the  chorus,  and  cocks  and  hens  lent  their  cacklings 
to  increase  the  terrible  hullabaloo.  But  tall  black  savages 
rushed  forth  from  the  tents  armed  with  long  spears,  and 
shields  made  from  the  hides  of  buffalo  humps,  and  pre- 
pared to  give  boy  Green  a  warmer  reception  than  ever  he 
had  had  in  his  life  before,  or  than  ever  he  was  likely  to 
have  again,  for  there  was  a  glitter  in  those  men's  eyes  that 
meant  mischief. 


256  Stanley  (jrahame. 

It  suddenly  occurred  to  boy  Green  that  he  had  carried  his 
joke  just  a  little  too  far.  Only  he  was  not  quite  such  a  fool 
as  to  run  away,  although  at  that  moment  he  would  have 
given  the  teeth  out  of  his  head  to  be  back  once  more  in  the 
flour-barrel  on  board  the  dhow,  with  no  more  terrible  com- 
panions than  cockroaches,  and  picking  away  at  that  old  ham- 
bone.  If  he  ran  he  knew  those  spears  would  fly  after  him 
thick  and  fast,  and  then — !  Why,  then  boy  Green  would 
drop  out  of  this  story,  they  would  bury  him  in  the  sand, 
and  grow  curry  over  him.  Boy  Green  forced  a  laugh. 
Boy  Green  knew  what  he  was  about ;  he  laughed  and 
laughed  and  roared  and  laughed.  He  knew  those  savages 
/  wouldn't  kill  him  so  long  as  he  laughed,  and  at  long  last 
every  one  of  them  was  obliged  to  laugh  too,  and  the  little 
ones  all  came  back,  and  they  laughed,  and  such  a  chorus  of 
laughing  was  probably  never  before  heard  in  the  suburbs  of 
Lamoo.  Finally  all  the  little  nigger  boys  and  girls,  and  all 
those  spear-armed  men,  joined  hands  and  danced  and  yelled 
around  the  boy  Green.* 

Well,  boy  Green  had  gained  a  point  :  he  had  saved  his 
life,  but  he  knew  he  must  also  effect  his  escape.  He  did  it 
very  adroitly.  He  took  out  a  handful  of  copper  pice,  and 
showed  them  and  shook  them,  still  laughing  as  if  it  were 
the  best  joke  in  the  world.  Then  he  pointed  at  the  fowls, 
then  away  seawards  to  an  imaginary  ship,  then  he  shook 
the  pice  again,  and  grinned  from  ear  to  ear,  for  boy  Green's 
mouth  was  not  a  small  one.  Alas  for  those  unhappy  hens ! 
round  and  round  the  huts  they  fled  before  their  pursuers, 
and  boy  Green  was  fain  noyv  to  jaugh  in  earnest.  In  less 
than  five  minutes  fifteen  hens  lay  dead  at  boy  Green's  feet. 
Then  boy  Green  counted  out  fifteen  pice  (halfpennies)  and 
handed  them  over. 

"  Ye  can  keep  the  change,"  said  boy  Green.  "  I  ain't  a 
hard  one  to  drive  a  bargain. 

*  Ridiculous  though  this  scene  may  appear  to  my  readers,  everything 
actually  occurred  as  described.  The  boy  Green  is  himself  a  sketch  from 
the  life. 


Boy   Green    Victorious.  257 

"And  now,"  said  the  urchin  to  himself,  "there's  nuffin 
beats  cheek.  I  must  do  summut  to  make  these  niggers 
respect  me." 

So  he  went  whistling  around  till  he  found  a  piece  of 
bamboo  rope.  With  this  he  deftly  tied  the  dead  fowls  all 
in  a  bunch.  Then  he  singled  out  the  biggest  savage  in  the 
crowd,  an  immense  ogre-looking,  pock-pitted,  one-eyed 
fellow,  and  pitching  the  rope  over  his  neck,  coolly  deprived 
him,  gently  but  firmly,  of  his  spear  and  shield. 

"Ye  don't  want  this  toothpick/'  he  said,  "nor  this  old 
pot-lid  either.  Carry  these  fowls,  and  I'll  give  }re  another 
coin.  Another  sixpence ! "  shouted  boy  Green  in  the  fellow's 
ear,  as  if  shouting  would  make  him  understand.  But  lo  ! 
that  savage  was  cowed  by  this  impudent  boy,  and  looked  as 
like  an  overgrown  baby  as  it  is  possible  for  a  savage  to 
look.  So,  boy  Green  leading  the  way  singing,  the  fellow 
wifh  the  string  of  fowls  following,  and  the  other  natives 
bringing  up  the  rear,  they  left  the  forest  and  got  back  to 
the  road. 

As  boy  Green  neared  the  town,  or  city,  the  crowd  about 
him  got  la:ger,  and  by  the  time  he  found  himself  in  the 
streets  it  probably  numbered  many  hundreds.  But  boy 
Green  was  now  in  what  he  considered  fine  form,  and 
although  the  beings  that  surrounded  him  were  about  as 
motley  ar.d  dangerous-looking  as  savages  well  could  be,  he 
was  nothing  daunted.  If  his  feelings  were  to  be  analysed, 
perhaps,  down  at  the  very  bottom  of  his  heart,  a  little  doubt 
might  have  been  found  lurking,  that  he  was  not  quite  safe 
from  the  danger  of  having  his  cars  cut  oft'  and  handed  round, 
or  his  nose  slit  open  ;  but  he  knew,  at  all  events,  that  there 
was  no  good  showing  fear.  And  when  he  caught  another 
gigantic  Indian  and  mounted  on  his  shoulders  and  waved 
his  cap,  :md  once  more  intimated  that  there  was  not  the 
remotest  chance  of  Britons  ever  becoming  slaves,  he  com- 
pletely subdued  and  captivated  his  hearers.  To  be  sure, 
they  did  not  understand  a  word  he  said,  but  that  was 

17 


258  Stanley  Grahame. 

nothing ;  they  yelled  and  shouted  and  waved  their  spears 
just  the  same,  and  boy  Green  began  to  think  that  he  was  a 
very  big  gun  indeed.  About  the  same  time  he  became 
sensible  of  something  else — namely,  that  he  was  getting 
exceedingly  hungry. 

"I could  eat  most  anything,"  he  said  to  himself;  "but  there 
don't  seem  to  be  nuffin  to  eat,  which  is  ill-convenient. 
There  don't  seem  to  be  no  Spiers  and  Pond  about  nowheres, 
nor  no  eatin'-houses  o'  no  sorts.  I  guess  these  white-eyed 
niggers  eat  each  other  when  they  feels  a  bit  peckish.  I 
feels  now  as  how  I  could  eat  one  'o  them  fowls  raw.  Hullo, 
though  !  where  are  the  fowls  ?  The  big  fellow's  bolted,  I 
do  declare  !  And  there  isn't  a  perlice  officer  to  be  had,  and 
ne'er  a  beak  to  take  the  prisoner  afore  if  there  was.  Well, 
never  mind,  I  didn't  want  the  fowls.  They  saved  my  life, 
though.  Paid  fifteen  pice  for  'em — sevenpence-halfpenny  ! 
Fool  I  was,  to  be  sure,  when  fippence  would  have  dofte  ! 
'Ullo  !  what's  that  ?  I  never  felt  such  a  delicious  smell  in 
my  life  before  !  "  . 

The  boy  Green  stopped  the  nigger  he  rode  on  and  began 
to  roll  his  head — his  own  head,  not  the  nigger's — round  and 
round  in  the  air,  the  better  to  inhale  the  delicious  perfume. 
"  Wherever  is  it  coming  from,  I  wonder  ?  From  that  bal- 
cony, eh  ?" — sniff,  sniff,  sniff — "yes,  I'm  sure  it  is" — sniff, 
sniff — "  and  it's  curry,  too  !  Oh,  I'm  so  fond  of  curry  !  " 

As  he  spoke  he  unceremoniously  wheeled  his  "  nigger- 
horse,"  as  he  called  the  savage  he  rode,  round  by  the  ear 
till  he  faced  the  house.  Then  he  stood  right  up  on  his 
shoulder  till  he  could  see  in  over  the  balcony,  whence  the 
smell  of  the  curry  emanated.  There  he  beheld  a  beautiful 
room,  furnished  Arab  fashion,  apparently  all  curtains  and 
crystal,  rich  mattings  on  the  floor,  rich  lounges  around  it, 
and  a  punkah  depending  from  the  roof,  kept  in  motion  by 
invisible  hands,  to  cool  the  apartment.  But  what  riveted 
boy  Green's  attention  most  was  the  low  table  in  the  centre, 
on  which,  amid  coloured  glasses  and  vases  and  flowers, 


A  Self -Invited  Guest.  259 

>tood  a  banquet  so  inviting,  so  delicious  to  eye  and  nose, 
that  this  cheeky  boy  at  once  concluded  he  must  have  got 
into  very  good  quarters  indeed. 

"  Ho,  ho  !  "  he  said ;  "  all  ready,  is  it  1  Guests  hain't 
arrived  yet.  Well,  here  comes  number  one.  As  for  you, 
old  nigger-horse,  I  don't  want  yer  services  any  longer,  so  go ! " 

Boy  Green  had  got  clear  hold  of  the  balcony  now,  and 
just  as  he  did  so  he  lifted  one  leg  and  administered  to  his 
horse  a  kick  that  sent  him  sprawling  on  his  back. 

"  Good-bye,  ye  beauties  !  "  he  said,  addressing  the  yelling 
but  laughing  mob  from  his  coign  of  vantage.  "  I  adwises 
ye  all  to  go  quietly  'ome  for  fear  of  the  sun  spilin'  yer  com- 
plexions !  Good-bye ;  'member  me  to  the  old  people.  I'se 
going  to  dine  in  here.  Bye-bye!"  and,  kissing  his  hand 
to  the  spear-armed  savages,  boy  Green  gracefully  retired 
to  what  he  called  "  the  privacy  of  his  'partment." 

"Scrumptious!"  he  exclaimed,  eyeing  the  table  over. 
"First  course  fish;  second,  curried  rats  or  summut  and  rice; 
third  course,  curried  something  else  and  more  rice.  Fixings : 
yams  and  sweet  potatoes,  all  'ot.  Dessert :  pine-apples  and 
guavas.  Vy,  I  do  declare  they  must  have  been  hexpecting 
of  me.  Hullo  !  who  have  we  here  ?  " 

As  he  spoke  he  pulled  out  of  a  corner  an  exceedingly 
small  and  excessively  black  little  naked  nigger  boy.  He 
held  this  frightened,  round-eyed  urchin  aloft — he  did  not 
weigh  apparently  more  than  an  ordinary-sized  Patagonian 
rabbit. 

"  Ho,  ho  ! "  said  the  boy  Green,  replacing  him  again  in  his 
corner.  "  Yer  a  keepin'  of  the  punkah  moving,  are  ye  ? 
Well,  do  yer  duty  and  ye  won't  be  touched.  I  likes  a  good 
little  boy,  but  I  eats  bad  'uns  ! " 

After  making  a  face  or  two  that  would  have  made  the 
unhappy  little  nigger  boy  get  inside  his  boots  with  fright  if 
he  had  had  any  boots  on,  our  young  sailor  settled  himself 
down  at  the  table  and  applied  himself  vigorously  to  the 
operation  of  making  a  hearty  meal. 


260  Stanley  Grahame. 

"  That  fish,"  he  said  to  himself,  but  speaking  aloud,  "  is 
truly  excellent.  The  dash  of  garlic  in  the  melted  butter  is 
perfection  saucified.  Another  slice,  Mr.  Green  ?  Thanks, 
I  think  I  will.  Try  that  sherbet,  Mr.  Green;  it  is  iced, 
and  I'm  sure  you  are  rather  tired  after  your  long  ride. 
Well,  I  do  feel  a  little  tired,  just  a  leetle.  Yes,  the  flavour 
of  this  sherbet  surpasses  anything  ever  I  tasted  before; 
forgive  me  if  I  seem  to  make  too  free  with  it.  Make 
yourself  quite  at  home,  Mr.  Green.  Help  yourself  to  a 
little  more  curry.  Thanks,  I  guess  I  will,  but  I  mustn't 
forget  to  leave  a  place  for  some  'o  those  guavas,  and  maybe 
about  a  half  o'  one  o'  them  pineapples.  Good  health, 
Mr.  Green.  Glad  to  make  your  acquaintance.  Same  to 
you,  and  many  o'  them." 

"  Well,  I  do  declare,"  said  a  rough  voice  close  behind  him 
and  in  good  plain  English.  "I've  seen  cheek  and  impudence 
before  in  many  ways  in  my  time,  but  this  beats  everything." 

Before  boy  Green  had  time  to  reply  he  was  seized  by  the 
back  of  the  neck  with  a  fist  that  gripped  him  like  an  iron 
vice,  and  held  fast. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  yourself,  eh  ?  "  said  the  voice. 

"I'll  tell  you  what  I  think  o'  you  in  a  minute,  old 
cockalorum,  if  ye  don't  quit  a  hold  o'  my  neck.  What 
do  you  mean,  eh  ?  D'ye  know  that  excitement  spiles  di- 
gestion, and  I  ain't  half  done  dinner  yet  ?  There  now,  ye 
don't  know  who  ye  have  the  honour  o'  hentertainin',  else 
you'd  be  down  on  yer  knees  and  beggin'  for  your  life  in  a 
minute." 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  ! "  roared  the  voice,  letting  go  his  hold  and 
permitting  boy  Green  to  look  round. 

There  stood  a  tall,  brown-bearded,  red-faced  Arab,  in 
gilded  turban,  cloak  of  camel's  hair,  with  jewelled  sword- 
belt,  scabbard,  and  pistols. 

"There's  nothing  like  cheek,  when  it's  well  carried  out," 
said  this  burly  Arab. 

"Them's    my   sentiments   to    a    T,"  cried    boy  Green 


A  Discovery.  261 

"  Shake  hands,  old  chap.  Now  I  don't  mind  ye  sittin'down 
free-and-easy  like  and  having  a  bit  o'  dinner  with  me. 
You'll  find  that  curry  really  excellent.  I'm  afraid  the  fish 
is  cold,  though." 

"  How  did  you  get  in  here  ?  "  said  the  Arab. 

"  By  the  window,"  said  boy  Green,  with  his  mouth  full ; 
"  how  did  yerself  ?  " 

"  D'ye  know,"  said  the  Arab,  "  I've  half  a  mind  even  now 
to  cut  your  head  off  ?  " 

"Better  that,''  replied  boy  Green,  "than  if  you  had  a 
whole  mind  to  cut  the  half  o'  my  head  off.  But  sit  down, 
don't  stand  on  ceremony.  'Ow  is  the  old  lady,  eh  ?  " 

Very  simple  words  these  last,  and  impudent  enough  the 
inquiry.  Boy  Green  did  not  mind  that  a  bit.  But  he  was 
very  much  surprised  indeed  to  witness  the  effect  they  had 
upon  the  stalwart  form  that  stood  before  him. 

"  Boy,"  he  gasped,  "  is  it  possible  you  know  me  ?  " 

"  Never  clapped  eyes  on  yer  in  my  life  afore,"  was  boy 
Green's  reply,  "  but  ye  don't  seem  'arf  a  bad  sort." 

"Then,  why  that  allusion  to — to  my  mother?" 

"Just  to  be  friendly  like.  Dessay  she's  a  wery  deservin 
old  creachure  as  far  as  mothers  go.  Sit  down.  Ye're  a 
fidgetin'  o'  me.  I  likes  peas  with  my  meals,  as  the  pigeon 
said.  Ye  looks  to  me  like  a  Forty-second  Highlander  that 
had  swapped  togs  with  a  scare-the-crow.  Sit  down;  curry's 
cold." 

"  What's  your  name  ?  "  said  the  tall  stranger. 

"  Boy  Green.     What's  yourn  ?  " 

"  Archibald  Weir  !  " 

"  Whew — ew — ew  !  "  whistled  boy  Green,  starting  up 
from  the  table  and  looking  at  the  figure  before  him. 
"  Whew  I  Vy,  sir,  you're  one  of  the  customers  as  the 
hexpedition  was  got  up  to  go  to  the  relief  o'.  You're  a  slave, 
you  are — or  ye  ought  to  be — somewheres  in  the  'terior  of 
Afriker.  Ye  ought  to  be  there  now,  I  tell  ye,  and  it  ain't 
fair  to  the  hexpiedition  that  ye  ain't.  Ye  sees  before  ye, 


262  Stanley  Gtahame. 

sir,  the  medical  officer  in  charge  o'  that  hexpiedition.  Dr. 
Green,  sir,  at  your  service." 

"You're  a  bright  youth,"  replied  Weir,  "a  bright  youth 
indeed." 

Then  he  threw  himself  on  a  lounge,  and  for  a  time 
seemed  lost  in  thought. 

This  was  a  shining  hour  for  boy  Green,  and  he  duly 
improved  it  by  renewing  his  attack  on  the  viands  before 
him. 

"  When  did  this  expedition  start  ?  "  asked  Weir. 

"This  morning." 

"  Ha  !  and  from  here  ?  " 

"Yes." 

'  I've  been  hunting,  and  so  missed  seeing  them." 

'  Have  you  now  ?  "  said  that  cheeky  boy.  "  Hope  ye 
shot  summut  for  breakfast  to-morrow.  But  I  say,  suppose 
ye  order  lights.  Carn't  ye  see  it's  gettin'  dark  ?  I  can 
hardly  find  the  way  to  my  mouth.  I'll  sleep  here  to-night 
if  ye  can  make  me  pretty  comfortable,  and  join  the  hexpie- 
dition to-morrow — arter  breakfast,  in  course.  Probably  I 
shall  pay  a  visit  to  the  sultan  before  I  start.  D'ye  think 
he'd  be  glad  to  see  me  ?  " 

"  I  think,''  said  Weir,  "  it  is  very  probable  you'll  come 
back  with  your  head  under  your  arm." 

"  Well  then,  I'll  think  it  over  first,"  said  boy  Green. 

"You'd  better,"  said  Weir,  smiling  grimly.  "Make  your 
self  at  home  here  to-night,  anyhow." 

"  Boy,"  said  Weir,  after  a  pause,  "have  you  a  mother  ?" 

"  Not  much,"  said  boy  Green. 

"Ah,  lad  !  "  continued  Weir,  speaking  more  to  himself, 
as  it  were,  than  to  his  uninvited  guest,  "I  had;  and  my 
prayers  for  many  and  many  a  long  year  have  been  that  I 
may  return  once  more  to  my  own  country  and  get  her 
blessing  ere  she  closes  her  dear  eyes  in  death.  How  she 
loved  me,  lad  !  But  how  ill  I  requited  her  for  all  the  love 
she  bore  me.  I  scorned  her,  I  fled,  I  fear  I  broke  her  heart. 


A  Bold  Scheme.  263 

I  heard  since  then  only  once  about  her.  They  told  me  she 
had  gone  mad,  that  she  lived  all  by  herself  on  a  wild  moor 
in  Scotland,  that  her  little  house  was  haunted,  and  she  her- 
self known  but  to  be  feared  in  all  the  country  round.  But 
she  taught  me  when  a  boy  to  pray ;  and  in  my  manhood,  in 
my  bondage,  a  slave  to  savages  in  this  dark  continent,  with 
tears  in  my  eyes  and  wildest  grief  in  my  heart,  I  turned  to 
Him  at  last  and  He  has  set  me  free." 

"  Well,"  said  boy  Green,  "  I'm  glad  to  see  ye.  And  if  it's 
any  comfort  for  ye  to  know,  your  mother  is  still  alive  :  I 
know  that  for  certain." 

"  Comfort  ?  "  cried  Weir,  seizing  boy  Green  by  the  hand. 
"  God's  blessing  on  you,  my  lad  ;  you  have  made  me  the 
happiest  man  in  the  world." 

It  occurred  to  the  boy  Green  next  morning  to  go  alone  to 
the  encampment  of  the  expedition  ;  he  wanted  to  make  his 
peace,  and  if  he  went  with  good  news  he  rightly  judged 
this  would  not  be  difficult  to  do. 

He  found  the  fires  still  smouldering,  and  a  hungry  crowd 
of  Somali  savages  around  them,  picking  up  whatever  they 
could  find,  but  his  people  were  gone.  So  boy  Green  made 
the  best  of  his  way  back  to  the  house  where  he  had  found 
poor  daft  Jean's  son. 

"  It's  a  kind  o'  wexing,"  he  said  to  himself,  "but  it's  one  o* 
those  things  as  can't  be  helped." 

As  he  mused  thus  he  was  passing  the  palace  of  the  sultan, 
and  a  thought  struck  this  bold  boy  Green,  which  he  pro- 
ceeded forthwith  to  put  into  action.  He  marched  straight 
up  the  steps  and  confronted  the  officer  on  duty. 

"Good  morning,"  said  boy  Green.  "You  don't  know  me. 
But  don't  apologise.  I've  come  to  see  your  master,  the 
sultan,  on  most  important  business;  I  ain't  got  my  card - 
case,  but  that  don't  signify.  Give  the  sultan  that." 

He  presented  the  officer  with  an  old  envelope  as  he  spoke. 

"  See  sultan  ?  You  ?  "  said  the  gaily-dressed  official, 
whose  English  was  of  the  meagrest. 


264  Stanley  Grahame. 

"Certainly,"  said  boy  Green.  "An'  you  look  bright 
about  it  too,  and  maybe  I'll  say  a  word  in  your 
favour." 

"  Sultan  sleep,"  said  the  officer,  "  no  can  see  you." 

"  What ! "  cried  boy  Green,  drawing  himself  up.  "  Not 
see  me.  Sir,  I'm  Dr.  Green,  of  her  British  Majesty's  service. 
If  you  don't  go  at  once  and  deliver  my  message,  the  Queen 
might  send  a  ship  and  blow  this  old  barn  about  your  ears. 
Now  then,  will  you  go  ?  " 

There  is  no  saying  how  matters  would  have  ended,  had 
the  sultan  and  his  retinue  at  that  moment  not  happened  to 
have  come  forth.  Seeing  a  sailor  in  English  uniform  he  at 
once  ordered  him  to  be  brought  before  him,  and  proceeded 
to  question  him. 

Not  a  bit  abashed,  boy  Green  told  his  highness  that  he 
desired  private  audience  of  him.  Behold  that  cheeky 
youngster  then,  fifteen  minutes  after  this  date,  squatted  on 
a  scarlet  cushion  in  the  presence  of  royalty,  and  eating 
mangoes  with  the  air  of  a  prince.  The  sultan  and  two  of 
his  intimate  friends  were  listening  amusedly  by  means  of 
the  interpreter  to  the  boy's  discourse,  and  he  certainly  did 
not  neglect  to  enlarge  on  the  subject  of  the  greatness  of  the 
British  Empire,  or  rather  of  that  happy  combination  the 
British  Empire  plus  boy  Green,  and  from  all  he  said — if  the 
sultan  believed  him — he  must  have  concluded  that  the 
British  Empire  was  nothing  at  all  without  boy  Green,  and 
that  it  would  speedily  go  to  wreck  and  ruin  if  boy  Green 
ceased  to  exist. 

After  about  an  hour  of  this  pleasant  confab, 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  the  sultan,  "  there  is  one  remark  I  must 
make." 

"  Out  vith  it,  sultan,"  said  boy  Green,  "  you're  an  older 
man  than  me,  but  never  be  shy." 

"  I  was  going  to  say,"  said  the  sultan,  smiling,  "  that  you 
blow  your  own  trumpet  very  well." 

"  'Cause  vy  ? "    replied    boy  Green,   when    the    sultan's 


An  Escort  granted.  265 

words  were  interpreted  to  him — "  'cause  vy  ?  Who  vould 
blow  the  boy  Green's  trumpet  if  he  didn't  blow  it  his  little 
s^lf?  It  strikes  ma,  sir,  that  that  is  the  correct  way  of 
lookin'  at  the  matter." 

"  Well,  you  have  amused  us  so  much,"  said  the  sultan, 
"  that  we  really  cannot  refuse  you  the  escort  you  ask  for. 
Twenty  of  our  very  best  soldiers  shall  therefore  conduct 
you  to  your  people." 

Boy  Green  jumped  up.  "I  ain't  usually  impulsive,"  he 
said,  "and  you'll  'skuse  me  for  shaking  'ands  with  you. 
But,  Mr.  Sultan,  you  are  a  brick,  sir,  and  nuffin  else ;  and 
you're  about  to  confer  a  favour  not  on  boy  Green  only,  not 
on  the  Queen  of  England  only,  but,  sir,  on  the  whole  bound- 
less British  Empire  !  And  I  takes  leave  o'  ye,  sultan,  with 
the  tenderest  feelings  o'  gratitude  in  my  buzzom,  and  I'm 
sure  ye  won't  mind  me  takin'  a  few  of  these  'ere  mangoes 
in  my  pocket,  will  yer  ?  " 

*  *  *  *  *  •  * 

It  is  time  for  us  now  to  follow  the  footsteps  of  Stanley 
Grahame  and  his  party. 

Soolieman  was  a  good  traveller.  He  determined  not  to 
be  followed,  and  he  hardly  left  trail  enough  behind  him  for 
an  Apache  Indian  to  puzzle  out.  For  two  or  three  days  he 
led  the  expedition  over  an  arid  desert,  where  hardly  a  green 
thing  grew — where,  saving  the  tents,  there  was  no  shelter 
from  the  burning  midday  sun.  They  then  struck  the  river  ; 
the  boats  were  put  together,  and  they  embarked.  If  the 
desert  told  no  tale,  the  river  would  be  doubly  silent  as  to 
their  route,  and  unless  some  wandering  savage  met  them 
and  bore  the  news  to  boy  Green,  Archie  Weir,  and  the 
soldiers  the  sultan  had  lent  them,  there  was  a  likelihood  of 
their  never  being  followed  up  at  all. 

Three  days  on  the  river,  then  they  landed  again  and 
marched  more  directly  into  the  interior.  And  so  for  clays 
and  da}"s  they  journeyed  on,  and  ever  as  they  went  the 
scenery  grew  wilder  and  more  romantic,  and  the  dangers 


266  Stanley  Grahame. 

they  had  to  encounter  greater  and  greater  ;  for  now  by 
night  sentries  had  to  redouble  their  vigilance,  for  howl  of 
hyaena,  bark  of  jackal,  and  the  deep  and  terrible  bass  of  the 
lion's  roar  resounded  from  forest  or  jungle  and  mingled 
fearfully  with  the  dreams  of  the  sleepers  in  the  tent. 


XXI. 

CAMP  LIFE— A  NIGHT  ADVENTURE—  1 HE  DISMAL 
SWAMT— ATTACKED  BY  CROCODILES. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

CAMP   LIFE — A    NIGHT    ADVENTURE — THE    DISMAL   SWAMP 

ATTACKED    BY    CROCODILES. 

'"T~^HE  weather  keeps  up,  doesn't  it?"  said  Tom  Rey- 

JL  nolds  one  day  as  they  were  all  sitting  down  to 
dinner  in  the  splendid  marquee. 

"  You  dear,  droll  old  Cousin  Tom  ! "  said  Stanley,  laugh- 
ing. "  Why,  of  course  it  does,  and  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  it 
would  be  another  hot  day  to-morrow." 

"Why,"  cried  Mite,  who  was  in  fine  form,  "Tom  thinks 
he  ought  to  have  it  showery  one  day  and  misty  the  next- — 
the  same  as  it  is  in  Glaiska  ! " 

"  Ah  ! "  said  Cooke,  joining  the  laugh  at  Tom's  expense, 
"  in  Glaiska  the  weather  is  sold  retail  in  small  packets,  duly 
assorted — just  enough  to  last  for  a  day.  But  here  in  the 
tropics  we've  got  to  have  it  wholesale,  and  enough  of  the 
sort  to  last  for  months." 

"  Weather  doesn't  keep  well  in  hot  climates,  eh  ?" 

That  was  Bill's  little  joke. 

"But  you  like  the  climate,  don't  you,  cousin?"  said 
Stanley. 

"Man,  I  do!"  replied  honest  Tom— "  apart  from  the 
midges." 

"You  mean  mosquitoes,  Tom,  don't  you  ?" 

"  Well,  maybe  I  do.  But  they  do  bite  uncommonly 
hard,"  replied  Tom. 

"What  a  lot  you'll  have  to  tell  when  you  gang  back  !" 
said  Mitr. 


270  Stanley  Grahame. 

"May  we  a'  gang  back,"  laughed  Tom.  "They  say 
Scotchmen  never  gang  back." 

"  Avcrtit  omen  !  "  said  Stanley,  solemnly ;  "  we  are  in  a 
strange  country,  surrounded  by  danger  of  every  kind.  We 
must  trust  in  Providence  and  do  our  duty." 

"  That's  it,  boys  !  "  said  Cooke  ;  "  trust  in  Providence  and 
do  our  duty." 

"Amen!"  said  Big  Bill. 

There  was  a  moment's  lull  in  the  conversation,  broken 
only  by  the  roar  of  a  cataract  in  the  river,  near  by  which 
they  were  encamped.  It  was  a  branch  of  the  great  Congo — • 
that  mighty  stream  near  the  banks  of  which,  ere  many 
years  elapse,  will  arise  the  nucleus  of  a  new  nation  that 
will  go  on  spreading  in  all  directions,  till  it  rivals  in  wealth 
and  wisdom  the  great  American  Republic  itself. 

They  had  crossed  this  river  high  above  the  falls,  where 
the  water  spread  itself  out  over  miles  and  miles  of  a  pebbly 
bed,  and  was  everywhere  as  clear  and  translucent  as  crystal 
itself.  But  pleasant  though  it  would  have  been  to  have 
journeyed  along  by  its  banks,  it  would  have  taken  them 
out  of  their  course  and  very  much  too  far  north. 

"To-morrow  night "  said  Stanley. 

"  Yes,"  responded  Mite ;  "  go  on,  Stan.  What  about  to- 
morrow night?" 

They  had  left  the  dinner-table  and  left  the  tent,  and  as 
they  spoke  they  stood  together  in  a  group,  Stanley  and  Mite 
side  by  side — a  position  that  the  latter  was  very  fond  of, 
especially  in  the  dark,  as  they  now  were. 

"  Stop  !  "  cried  Stanley.     "  Listen !  " 

Mite  could  just  see  that  his  friend  held  one  hand  aloft 
against  the  starlit  sky,  as  if  commanding  attention. 

Deeper  far  than  the  roar  of  the  cataract,  more  appalling 
than  the  loudest  thunder,  it  was  a  voice  that  seemed  to 
shake  the  very  forest  trees. 

Mite  clung  to  brother  Stan's  arm.  "  Let  us  get  nearer  to 
the  camp-fire,"  he  half  whispered. 


The  Lion.  271 

Bill  and  Cooke  and  Tom  were  there  already,  and  Stanley 
prepared  to  follow. 

"  There  is  no  danger  now,"  said  Stanley. 

"No  danger,"  repeated  Mite,  "and  that  terrible  lion  so 
close  to  us  !  " 

"  No,  Mite,  there  is  no  danger  now."  He  emphasised  the 
word  "  now."  "  In  a  thunderstorm  as  soon  as  you  hear  the 
peal  the  danger  is  over  for  a  moment;  it  is  the  silent  flash 
that  brings  the  bolt.  That  lion  growled  with  disappointed 
rage ;  he  had  been  watching  us  probably  for  five  minutes, 
and  had  not  made  up  his  mind  to  spring;  then  he  became 
alarmed." 

"  Oh,  dear  !  "  said  Mite  ;  "  I  hope  he  wasn't  thinking  of 
springing  on  me,  Stan,  or  you,  you  know." 

"  It  was  the  very  uncertainty,"  replied  Stan,  "  in  the 
brute's  mind  as  to  which  of  us  would  suit  him  best,  that 
caused  him  to  hesitate,  I  have  little  doubt  of  that,  and  that 
is  what  saved  us.  He  wouldn't  look  twice  at  you,  Mite, 
you  may  be  sure.  Why,  you  wouldn't  be  a  bite  to 
him!" 

"  Unless,"  said  Bill,  "  the  lion  wanted  a  light  supper." 

"Don't  you  laugh,  Bill,"  Stanley  said,  "lions  don't  care 
for  light  suppers.  It  was  you  he  was  thinking  most  about." 

"  Yes,"  cried  Cooke ;  "  but  he  wasn't  sure  if  he  could 
carry  him  off." 

"No,  that  was  it,"  continued  Stanley;  "and  so  as  you, 
Cooke,  looked  so  tough,  and  I'm  all  bones,  I  believe  that 
lion  would  finally  have  made  up  his  mind  to  sup  upon  Tom." 

"  Don't ! "  exclaimed  Tom  ;  "  you  make  my  blood  creep  ! 
Hark  !  there  he  is  again  ! " 

"  There  is  more  than  one  lion  there,  gentlemen,"  said 
Sool,  who  had  suddenly  appeared  on  the  scene. 

"  How  very  cold  it  has  got  all  of  a  sudden  ! "  said  poor 
Tom,  whose  teeth  were  chattering. 

He  crept  closer  to  the  fire  as  he  spoke,  kicked  the  logs, 
and  made  them  blaze. 


272  Stanley  Grahame. 

"  Much  more  wood  will  be  needed  to-night,"  said  Sool. 
"  Who  will  come  with  me  to  the  forest  ?  " 

Mite  jumped  up.  "I'll  go  for  one,"  he  said,  boldly 
clutching  his  rifle.  "  Tom,"  he  continued,  "  you  come  too, 
and  just  keep  behind  me  if  you're  afraid,  you  know." 

Sool  retired  for  a  few  moments,  then  he  returned  with 
torches,  which  he  proceeded  to  light,  afterwards  handing 
one  to  each. 

'  "  These,"   he  said,  quietly,  "  will  be   of  more  use  than 
rifles.     Come  ! " 

Then,  axes  in  hand,  ten  of  the  boys  went  with  the  party. 
They  struck  directly  into  the  forest,  and  a  strange  and 
weird-like  appearance  it  had,  that  wood  lit  up  thus  by 
torchlight.  There  was  no  undergrowth,  only  the  tall  stems 
of  the  trees  standing  up  around  them  like  pillars  in  some 
mighty  cavern  ;  but  beyond  the  circle  where  the  torchlight 
gleamed  all  was  shrouded  in  darkness.  No  undergrowth, 
but  presently  they  came  to  a  spot  where  a  great  tree  had 
fallen ;  then  the  work  commenced.  The  boys  plied  their 
axes,  and,  with  great  burdens  of  wood  on  their  backs,  they 
soon  made  their  way  back  again  to  camp,  around  which 
fires  were  lit  to  protect  it,  for  once  more  the  deep  bass  of 
the  lion's  voice  and  the  shrill,  unearthly  laughter  of  hyaenas 
awoke  the  echoes  of  those  ancient  woods. 

Even  in  the  marquee  it  was  considered  safest  to  have 
loaded  rifles  close  at  hand. 

"  Stanley,"  said  Mite,  "  when  we  went  out  that  time, 
after  dinner,  you  began  a  sentence  and  never  finished  it — 
something  about  to-morrow  night." 

"Oh,  yes,"  replied  Stanley;  "merely  this.  To-morrow 
night  we'll  have  no  bed  but  the  green  boughs,  no  roof  above 
us  except  the  sky,  for  it  will  not  be  safe  to  sleep  even  under 
trees.  We  can't  take  tents,  nor  anything  that  belongs  to 
civilised  life,  with  us  for  even  another  mile." 

What  Stanley  said  was  strictly  true,  the  rest  of  their 
journey  inland  must  be  made  with  free  hands,  untram- 


On  the  March.  273 

melled  save  by  the  arms  they  carried  for  their  protection 
from  dangers  as  yet  unknown. 

The  part  of  the  country  they  were  now  in  was  to  all 
appearance  uninhabited — by  human  beings,  at  any  rate. 
Some  little  way  up  stream,  and  right  in  the  centre  of  the 
river,  was  a  small  rocky  island.  The  boat  was  put  together 
on  the  bank  opposite,  and  all  tents  and  stores,  and  even 
ammunition  that  was  considered  extra,  conveyed  thither 
and  hidden  in  a  little  rocky  cavern,  care  being  taken  to 
barricade  the  entrance  well  against  the  inquisitiveness  of 
wild  beasts. 

They  now  bent  their  footsteps  farther  northwards,  in- 
tending to  strike  the  country  of  the  Makalala  from  the 
equatorial  side,  and  thus  avoid  crossing  the  lands  where 
dwelt  those  savages  who  had  kept  our  hero  and  his  little 
party  so  long  prisoners,  in  their  first  attempt  to  reach 
Captain  Ross  and  his  daughter.  They  would  thus,  how- 
ever, have  to  traverse  regions  quite  unknown  to  them,  and 
known  even  to  Mbooma,  or  Brown,  only  by  hearsay. 

But  Cooke  and  Stanley  had  compasses  and  quadrant,  and 
right  well  they  knew  how  to  use  them.  All  through  this 
long  and  wearying  journey  they  had  kept  a  log  and  marked 
a  chart  just  as  if  they  had  been  at  sea. 

Sool  had  his  little  army  well  under  command,  and  on  the 
march  every  precaution  was  taken  to  avoid  surprise  either 
from  wild  beasts  or  still  wilder  men.  All  the  natives  they 
had  hitherto  met  were,  however,  peaceably  inclined.  Many 
were  the  villages  they  had  passed  through  that  still  bore  the 
traces  of  dreadful  raids  having  been  made  on  them  for  the 
purpose  of  carrying  the  inhabitants  off  into  slavery.  The 
woods  and  bush  around  some  of  these  were  scorched  and 
blackened  with  fire,  on  the  lower  trees  hardly  a  branch  had 
been  left,  and  the  lofty  cocoa-palms,  many  of  which  had 
escaped  ov/ing  to  their  great  height,  waved  green  above  a 
wilderness  of  black.  The  little  towns  themselves  had  becu 
laid  waste  by  fire  and  sword,  and  only  old  men  and  women 

18 


274  Stanley  Grahame. 

and  tender  children  had  been  left  alive.  They  fled  at  sight 
of  the  expedition — fled  and  hid  themselves  in  holes  in  the 
hill-sides,  looking,  as  they  peeped  occasionally  over  or  around 
the  boulders,  more  like  poor  hunted  coneys  or  stricken 
deer  than  anything  human. 

Tom  used  to  go  among  them  with  the  boy  Brown  as 
interpreter,  and  he  never  failed  to  win  their  confidence  and 
bring  them  back  with  him  to  their  deserted  villages. 

"  Oh,  Stanley,"  he  used  to  say,  "  my  heart  bleeds  for  the 
poor  things  !  If  we  had  but  time,  would  it  no'  be  a  grand 
thing  to  stop  among  them  and  tell  them  the  Gospel  story?" 

But  Stanley's  answer  was  ever,  "On,  on;  our  first  duty, 
dear  Tom,  lies  beyond  those  hills.  Another  time,  perhaps 
— another  time." 

"  Ay,"  Tom  would  reply,  "  another  time;  it  will  and  shall 
be  another  time  !  "  for  honest  Tom  Reynolds  had  formed  a 
great  resolve. 

But  now  they  traversed  a  large  belt  of  uninhabited 
country — a  land  given  up  entirely  to  the  beasts  of  the 
field.  Here  was  a  region  in  which  a  sportsman  might 
indeed  have  revelled,  and  a  naturalist  felt  in  a  kind  ot 
earthly  paradise ! 

The  fact  that  the  boys  were  laden  with  the  pieces  of  the 
boat,  which  had  often  to  be  put  together  to  enable  them  to 
ferry  across  some  broad  river  or  lake,  retarded  their  journey 
considerably.  They  still  bore  provisions  along  with  them, 
but  on  their  guns  they  depended  to  a  great  extent  now  for 
what  they  had  to  eat,  so  that,  upon  the  whole,  from  ten  to 
fifteen  miles  made  up  the  extent  of  a  day's  march.  But  it 
must  be  remembered  that  there  were  no  roads  properly  so- 
called  of  any  kind,  the  track  of  the  denizens  of  wilds  and 
forests  being  exceptcd. 

Sometimes  their  path  led  through  deep,  dark  woods  bare 
of  underwood,  the  home  of  thousands  of  wonderful  monkeys 
and  baboons — the  home,  too,  of  immense  flocks  of  parrots 
and  other  birds.  Especially  did  these  latter  congregate 


On  the  March.  275 

near  the  banks  of  the  streams,  flying  up  into  the  air  in 
screaming  clouds  at  the  approach  of  our  travellers,  the 
variety  and  splendour  of  their  plumage  and  their  gay 
colours  as  they  wheeled  and  tumbled  in  the  air  forming 
a  sight  that,  once  seen,  could  never  be  forgotten.  There 
were  some  parts  of  the  forests  where  the  branches  were 
laden  till  they  bent  and  broke  with  the  weight  of  the 
nests  of  these  birds.  Different  species  lived  in  different 
colonies,  and  it  was  remarkable  how  careful  each  colony 
was  not  to  disturb  or  invade  in  any  way  the  birds  that  be- 
longed to  another. 

With  these  woods,  wide  and  fertile  grassy  glens  or 
straths  alternated,  and  next  perhaps  would  come  a  perfect 
wilderness  of  mountain  and  forest-land  combined.  No  lack 
of  game  here.  There  were  deer  and  antelopes  of  a  dozen 
different  species  among  the  hills,  and  the  streams  teemed 
with  fish,  and  little  lack  of  fruit  either.  There  were  fields 
of  pineapple-bushes,  the  delicious  perfume  of  which  was 
wafted  en  the  air  for  miles.  There  were  groves  of  plantains, 
bananas,  and  oranges,  and  trees  laden  with  guavas,  mangoes, 
and  a  thousand  other  fruits  that  they  could  not  even  name, 
nor,  for  the  matter  of  that,  could  they  tell  whether  or  not 
they  were  poisonous.  But  many  of  these  that  had  quite  a 
sickly  flavour  to  our  heroes  were  eaten  with  avidity  by 
their  carriers,  and  even  by  Sool  and  Sambo. 

Water  they  seldom  drank,  the  cocoanut-milk,  as  it  is 
called,  supplying  its  place.  This  is  the  fluid  that  is  con- 
tained within  the  shell  of  the  young  cocoanut  before  the  nut 
itself  has  more  than  just  commenced  to  form,  and  very  de- 
licious and  cool  it  is,  one  young  cocoanut  containing  about  a 
quart  of  it.  Many  of  the  mountains  were  tree-clad  to  the 
very  summits,  while  others  were  all  ablaze  with  the  most 
gorgeous  heaths  and  geraniums. 

For  more  than  a  week  they  journeyed  through  this  new 
and  lovely  land,  without  seeing  a  single  sign  of  human 
being  or  human  habitation. 


276  Stanley  Grahame. 

Had  our  travellers  been  inclined  for  sport  they  might 
now  have  indulged  in  it  to  their  hearts'  content,  for  herds 
of  immense  hippopotami  swarmed  in  the  deeper  pools  of 
the  river,  rhinoceroses  swarmed  in  the  jungles,  browsing  on 
the  roots  and  twigs,  while  elephants  roamed  in  forest  and 
plain,  but,  unless  killed  in  self-defence,  not  one  of  these 
animals  fell  to  their  guns. 

One  evening  Mite,  in  company  with  Bill,  was  returning 
to  the  camp,  the  former  chatting  away  just  as  lively  as  he 
always  did,  Bill  staggering  along  under  the  weight  of  a 
couple  of  antelopes,  large  enough  to  form  food  for  all  hands 
for  a  day  at  least,  when,  trotting  along  with  its  calf  in  front, 
came  a  huge  black  rhinoceros.  It  scorned  to  leave  the 
beaten  path,  but  came  on  with  a  rush,  head  well  down, 
straight  at  little  Mite.  He  fired  and  laid  the  poor  calf  dead, 
and  next  moment  would  have  been  hurled  higher  into  the 
air  than  ever  he  had  been  in  his  life,  without  something  to 
hold  on  by,  had  not  a  bullet  from  the  rifle — the  pet  bone- 
crusher —  of  Stanley  Grahame  laid  the  animal  dead  at 
Mite's  feet. 

Mite  was  very  much  frightened,  and  just  a  little  sur- 
prised, but  he  pulled  himself  together  sufficiently  to  doff 
his  cap  and  say  smiling,  "  Thank  you,  brother,  for  saving 
my  worthless  life.  But  mind,"  he  added,  "  I  never  meant 
to  kill  the  calf,  only  to  shoot  the  old  cow." 

"  You  might  just  as  well  have  stepped  aside  and  let  tne 
old  cow  pas ;,"  replied  Stanley.  "  However,  it  can't  be 
helped.  The  boys  will  have  veal  to-night." 

The  boys  certainly  did  have  veal,  and  beef  too,  and  after 
them,  as  soon  as  darkness  fell,  came  the  lions  and  tigers  to 
the  feast.  Such  a  terrible  roaring,  fighting,  and  growling 
our  travellers  never  yet  had  heard  ;  it  seemed  as  if  all  the 
wild  beasts  of  the  forest  had  assembled  to  eat  the  flesh  and 
gnaw  the  bones  of  that  gigantic  rhinoceros.  Silence  came 
at  last,  however,  broken  only  by  an  occasional  low  yawning 
roar,  as  if  some  great  beast  out  there  in  the  jungle  slept  but 


A   Terrible  Fate.  277 

badly,  and  woke  up  now  and  then  from  a  terrible  dream, 
the  result  of  too  much  rhinoceros  for  supper. 

The  travellers  lay  around  the  largest  fire,  rolled  in  their 
blankets,  for  even  in  the  torrid  regions  of  Africa  deadly 
night-dews  fall.  They  slept  feet  towards  the  fire,  and  with 
their  loaded  rifles  within  easy  reach,  while  not  far  off  lay 
the  boys  asleep.  Sentinels,  whose  duty  it  was  to  see  to 
the  fires  and  give  alarm  in  case  of  danger,  paraded  silently 
hither  and  thither,  and  Sool  himself  never  failed  to  keep 
the  first  watch. 

It  must  have  been  well  on  towards  morning ;  the  fires 
had  got  low ;  I  fear  the  sentries  had  fallen  asleep.  But  out 
from  the  jungle  a  monster  lion  had  crept.  Right  silently 
he  approached  the  sleeping  camp;  never  did  cat  stalk 
mouse  or  bear  creep  up  to  seal  with  greater  caution.  Nearer 
and  nearer,  stopping  every  moment  to  listen,  all  a-quiver 
from  head  to  tail  with  excitement,  but  making  no  more 
noise  than  yonder  snake  that  glides  around  the  foot  of  the 
cactus-bush.  Nearer  and  nearer,  then  raises  himself  gra- 
dually for  a  spring,  but  crouches  again  as  some  one  moves 
or  moans  in  his  sleep.  The  lion  is  in  luck,  the  whole  camp 
is  wrapt  in  slumber.  The  whole  camp  is  at  his  mercy  ! 
He  glares  from  form  to  form,  from  face  to  face,  and  lashes 
his  tail  from  side  to  side.  The  fire  flares  up  for  a  moment 
and  falls  on  the  sleeping  face  of  Mite ;  the  boy  is  un- 
consciously rubbing  his  cheek  where  a  mosquito  has  bit. 
The  motion  seems  to  invite  the  monster  to  spring,  as  any- 
thing moving  tempts  a  cat,  and  he  "  down-charges "  once 
again. 

But  just  then  one  of  the  sleeping  sentinels  raises  his 
arms  and  yawns.  In  one  moment  the  lion  has  changed  his 
mind  and  springs  upon  the  sentry  instead  of  Mite,  and 
bears  the  poor  fellow,  shrieking,  away  into  the  darkness  of 
the  night.  The  camp  is  all  aroused  in  an  instant.  There 
is  no  more  sleep  this  night  for  any  one.  As  for  the  poor 
sentinel,  no  power  on  earth  could  save  him.  Fainter  and 


278  Stanley  Grahame. 

fainter  grew  his  yells,  then  abruptly  ceased,  then — every 
one  shuddered  to  think  of  the  dreadful  deed  that  was  being 
enacted  in  that  dark  and  dismal  jungle. 

****** 

"We  have  already  exceeded  our  orders,"  said  the  chic 
of  what  we  must  now  dignify  by  the  title  of  Boy  Green's 
Expedition.  "We  have  exceeded  our  sultan's  orders,  young 
sahib.  We  have  followed  up  your  friends'  trail  for  five 
days  now  and  there  are  no  signs  of  them.  We  must 
return." 

"  Exceeded  yer  orders,  eh  ?  "  laughed  boy  Green — "  ex- 
ceeded yer  orders,  hey  ?  Why,  that's  nuffin  1  I  often 
exceeds  my  orders.  Won't  go  any  furder  ?  Nonsense  !  I 
tells  yer  this  :  if  you  goes  back  now  you  leaves  my  friend 
Mr.  Weir  and  myself — Dr.  Green,  of  her  Majesty's  ship 
Tonitru — to  our  fate.  We  goes  on.  Our  blood  will  be  on 
your  head,  and  what  if  England  should  demand  a  just 
retrybooshin  ?  Think  o'  that,  I  say,"  continued  boy  Green ; 
"  suppose  you  were  to  be  paid  for  going  on,  and  on,  and  on 
till  we  finds  the  other  part  o'  this  memorable  expedition, 
delivers  our  friends  from  the  jaws  o'  death,  burns  old  King 
Kafoozlum's  kraal,  covers  ourselves  with  honour  and  glory, 
and  all  that  sort  o'  thing,  eh?" 

"  Who  is  to  pay  us  ? "  asked  the  chief,  somewhat 
mollified. 

"  I'll  see  that  you  are  well  rewarded,"  said  Weir,  laugh- 
ing. "Come,  make  up  your  minds  to  go  on  with  us.  We 
cannot  find  the  trail  of  our  friends,  perhaps,  but  I  know  the 
way  to  the  country  of  the  Makalala.  I  have  good  reason 
to." 

So  a  bargain  was  struck,  and  that  is  how  there  came  to 
be  two  distinct  expeditions  marching  into  the  interior  of  the 
Dark  Continent  to  the  relief  of  the  unhappy  captives. 

For  the  present,  however,  it  is  with  the  expedition  com- 
manded by  Stanley  Grahame  we  have  most  to  do. 

Hitherto  it  had   been  all  "  pretty  plain  sailing,"  as  Mite 


In  the  Swamp.  279 

called  it,  with  them.  The  first  part  of  their  journey  was 
nothing  less  than  one  long  picnic,  with  just  a  spice  of  danger 
about  it,  and  one  or  two  trifling  adventures — such  as  Mite's 
with  the  rhinoceros ;  a  fight  between  Bill  and  a  boa-con- 
strictor, in  which  Bill  came  off  victorious  because  there  was 
not  a  tree  handy  for  the  boa  to  take  a  turn  of  his  tail  round  ; 
an  exciting  race  between  Tom  and  an  alligator,  Tom  winning 
by  a  length,  with  merely  the  loss  of  the  heel  of  his  boot  ; 
and  so  on,  and  so  forth.  When  the  tents  had  to  be  stowed 
away  the  picnic  came  to  a  conclusion,  and  since  then  they 
had  had  to  rough  it.  They  were  surrounded  by  dangers  of 
every  kind,  and  now  at  last  those  dangers  began  to  thicken. 
There  was  trouble  and  sorrow  ahead.  But  they  bravely 
faced  all.  One  day  from  a  hill-top  they  saw  spreading  out 
before  them  what  seemed  to  be  a  boundless  prairie-land. 
It  lay  right  in  their  way,  however,  and  so  they  prepared  to 
march  across  it. 

They  had  not  gone  far  before  they  found  it  was  damp  as 
well  as  level  and  flat — avast  morass,  a  dismal  slimy  swamp. 

For  a  whole  day  they  toiled  on  over  it,  often  up  to  nearly 
their  waists  in  water,  and  as  the  sun  went  down  behind  the 
level  horizon  they  found  themselves  apparently  as  far  from 
any  place  where  it  would  be  possible  to  bivouac  as  ever. 
Bat  the  night  was  clear  and  starry,  and  before  long  the 
moon  rose,  making  everything  around  them  as  bright  almost 
as  midday  in  some  less  sunny  lands. 

They  had  reached  a  part  of  the  swamp  where  stunted 
bushes  grew  here  and  there,  the  bottom  feeling  somewhat 
more  solid  than  in  other  places,  as  if  the  water  had  simply 
overflowed  on  dry  land.  Sool  was  in  front,  stalking  silent 
and  ghostlike  in  the  uncertain  light.  Suddenly  there  was  a 
hoarse  and  horrid  sound  in  the  water  on  ahead.  The  noise 
seemed  to  be  re-echoed  from  every  side,  and  was  accom- 
panied by  a  sound  as  of  rushing  water. 

"  Allah  !  il  allah  ! "  cried  Sool.  "  Come  hastily  back  I 
Quick,  gentlemen,  quick  !  the  crocodiles  !  the  crocodiles!" 


2  So  Stanley  GraJiavie. 

"  Quick  !  "  repeated  Stanley.  "  Yes,  Sool.  But  what 
can  we  do  ?  Look  yonder  !  " 

It  was  indeed  a  fearful  sight,  and  with  a  low  frightened 
moan  like  that  which  escapes  from  a  crowd  when  danger  is 
terribly  imminent,  when  a  house  is  falling  or  a  ship  reels 
before  she  sinks,  the  members  of  the  expedition  one  and  all 
crowded  together  as  if  paralysed  with  dread,  for  as  far  as 
they  could  see  in  the  moonlight  the  water  seemed  alive 
with  monstrous  crocodiles  coming  swiftly  on  towards  them, 
and  evidently  bent  upon  their  destruction ! 


XXII. 

FIGHTING  THE  CROCODILES— THE  HOME  OF  THE 
GORILLAS-"  THE  KING  WITH  THE  CLICK*— NEAR- 
ING  THE  LAND  OF  THE  MAKALALA, 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

FIGHTING  THE  CROCODILES — THE   HOME   OF  THE   GORILLAS 

"THE  KING  WITH   THE   CLICK" — NEARING  THE   LAND  OF 
THE  MAKALALA. 

FEW  travellers  have  ever  had  so  fearful  an  experience, 
or  stood  face  to  face  with  so  hideous  a  danger,  as  an 
attack  by  crocodiles  in  an  open  swamp  by  night.  It  was 
strange  that  these  monsters  should  have  been  in  such 
numbers  in  the  place,  and  stranger  that  they  should  have 
proved  themselves  possessed  of  so  much  courage  and 
daring.  The  crocodile  is  not  iraturally  so  savage  as  some 
have  supposed,  and  as  a  rule  depends  more  upon  his 
cunning  and  wariness  than  on  his  pluck.  But  here  the 
brutes  were  in  their  element,  and  the  fact  that  it  was  night 
no  doubt  tended  to  increase  their  daring. 

Chief  Soolieman  now  showed  himself  a  good  general, 
and  the  occasion  was  one  to  try  the  mettle  of  the  very  best 
of  men. 

"  Quick,"  he  cried  to  the  carriers,  "  throw  down  the 
burdens.  We  must  make  a  rampart  of  these." 

A  well-directed  volley  tended  for  a  time  to  check  the 
advance  of  the  scaly  foe,  but  only  for  a  time ;  then  the 
boldest  and  biggest  came  speedily  to  the  front,  and  the  fight 
began  in  terrible  earnest.  They  raised  themselves  on  the 
hastily  thrown  up  barricade,  and  with  teeth  and  arms  tried 
to  tear  the  men  from  behind  it.  They  even  raised  them- 
selves one  on  top  of  the  other,  and  rolled  on  top  of  each 


284  Stanley  Grahame. 

other  in  their  fury.  In  so  doing  they  exposed  the  more 
vulnerable  parts  of  their  bodies  to  bullet  or  spear,  and  the 
slaughter  was  therefore  great. 

Not  the  least  appalling  thing  about  this  terrible  fight  was 
the  noise  these  monsters  made,  the  roaring  and  champing 
and  splashing ;  and  this,  combined  with  the  shouting  of 
the  men,  the  rattle  of  spears  and  axes,  the  sound  of  the 
rifles,  and  the  awful  appearance  of  the  angry  brutes,  made 
a  scene  I  should  try  but  in  vain  to  describe,  and  which  the 
weird  pencil  of  a  Dore  only  could  do  justice  to. 

But  even  crocodiles  have  sense  enough  to  know  when 
they  are  beaten,  and  presently,  as  if  by  one  accord,  they 
drew  off  to  what  seemed  deeper  water  in  the  rear, 
where  they  disappeared,  and  silence  once  more  prevailed 
over  all  the  dismal  swamp.  But  there  was  the  dead 
left  on  the  field  where  they  had  fought,  and  the  moon 
shining  down  on  torn  and  trampled  bushes,  and  on  water 
stained  with  blood. 

Had   they  retreated  entirely  ?     Or  only  to  recruit  their 
strength  for  a  renewal  of  the  struggle  ?     These  were  ques 
tions  it  was  impossible  to  answer.     And  so  our  heroes  had 
to  stand  to  their  arms  and  wait. 

As  it  was,  the  crocodiles  had  done  damage  enough  to 
their  human  foes  in  all  conscience,  and  more  than  one  poor 
fellow  had  been  hauled  by  them  over  the  barricade  to  meet 
a  fate  it  is  too  awful  to  think  about. 

Big  Bill  had  had  a   narrow  escape ;  he  had  been  seized 
and  pulled  half  way  over  the  rampart;  but,  axe  in   hand, 
strong-armed  Sool  was  by  his  side  in  a  moment,  and  saved 
him,  though  Bill's  arm  was  badly  torn  and  bled  profusely. 
Little  Mite  looked  as  pale  as  a  ghost  in  the  moon-light. 
"I    hope,    Stan,"    he   said,  "those    beggars    won't  come 
back.     I've  had  enough  of  crocodile  fighting  to  last  me  for 
a  lifetime. 

"  Ma  conscience  I "  said  poor  Tom  Reynolds  in  his 
broadest  Scotch — for  there  were  times  when  English  was 


An  Anxious  Time.  285 

frightened  out  of  him,  and  this  was  one  of  them — "  Ma 
conscience  !  Mite,  my  laddie,  dinna  speak  aboot  their  comin' 
back.  My  heart  was  in  my  mooth  a'  the  time  o'  the  row. 
Sich  a  colly-shangy  I  never  want  to  see  in  this  world  again. 
But,  Stanley,  man,  d'ye  no  think  it  would  be  better  to 
make  oor  feet  our  frien's,  and  leg  back  o'er  the  moor  at 
ance  ?  " 

"  I  think  we  are  safer  here,"  was  Stanley's  reply ;  "  if 
they  saw  us  moving  off  I  think  it  is  very  likely  they  would 
change  their  minds  and  show  up  again." 

"  Dinna  speak  aboot  it,"  said  Tom,  "  dinna,  dinna,  dinna ! 
I  never  believed  that  a  man's  hair  could  raise  his  hat  till 
this  awfu'  nicht.  Just  look  at  that  dead  monster  yonder — 
look  at  the  fearsome  limbs  o'  him  and  the  terrible  head  and 
claws.  I'll  see  him  in  my  dreams,  that  is  if  ever  one  o'.us 
comes  alive  oot  o'  this  moor." 

Thus  our  heroes  waited,  and  hours  and  hours  went  by, 
so  slowly.  They  made  as  little  noise  as  possible,  and  even 
talked  in  semi-whispers. 

A  low  wind  blew  over  the  marsh,  and  went  moaning 
through  the  bushes,  and  more  than  once  as  they  stirred  the 
men  clutched  their  arms,  and  stood  silent  but  firm,  to  meet 
the  danger  they  thought  nothing  could  avert. 

But  the  night  wore  away,  and  the  moon  sank  lower  and 
lower  in  the  west,  and  never,  I  ween,  did  travellers 
welcome  with  greater  signs  of  joy  the  first  streaks  of  early 
dawn. 

Then  the  glorious  sun  arose,  and  with  one  accord  they 
fell  on  their  knees,  just  where  they  stood,  and  thanked  the 
Deliverer,  who  alone  had  brought  them  through  this  night 
of  fearful  peril. 

"Is  it  onwards  now?"  said  Sool,  smiling. 

"  No,  thank  you,"  answered  Stanley,  "  a  very  little 
crocodile  fighting  goes  a  long  way.  These  brutes  will  not 
attack  us  in  broad  daylight.  Let  us  hark  back ;  we  cannot 
cross  the  swamp,  we  must  therefore  go  round  it." 


286  Stanley  Grahame. 

I  do  not  think  there  were  two  happier  men  in  that  party 
than  Mite  and  Tom  when  they  once  more  found  themselves 
on  high  and  dry  land. 

"I  could  eat  something  now,"  said  Stanley. 

"  And  I  also  could  pick  a  bit,"  said  Cooke. 

"  But  isn't  it  better  to  eat  than  be  eaten  ?  "  said  Mite. 

"Yes,"  said  Stanley,  solemnly ;  "think  of  the  fate  of  our 
poor  black  carriers." 

It  took  a  whole  week  of  wandering  to  get  round  that 
swamp,  there  seemed  to  be  no  end  to  it,  but  at  last  they 
stood  on  the  wooded  hills  beyond. 

But  dangers  seldom  come  singly,  they  proceed  in  series. 
They  had  many  an  attack  from  wild  beasts.  These 
animals,  especially  the  lions,  appeared  to  have  no  fear  of 
mankind,  and  it  was  often  difficult  to  find  a  spot  open 
enough  for  the  nightly  bivouac.  Watches  were  kept  as  a 
matter  of  course,  and  fires  burned,  so  the  lions  had  to  be 
content  to  remain  at  a  distance. 

"  I  do  believe,  you  know,"  Mite  said  one  morning, 
"  those  brutes  walk  around  us  all  night." 

"Yes,"  laughed  Stanley,  "just  licking  their  lips  and 
looking  on." 

"  It's  awful  music  they  make,  though,"  said  Tom, 
"  awful  music  to  go  to  sleep  with  in  your  ears." 

Big  Bill's  wounded  arm  was  weeks  ere  it  healed,  then 
Cooke  fell  sick  of  fever,  and  there  were  thus  two  of  the 
party  on  the  invalid  list. 

This  was  awkward,  so  Stanley  determined  to  call  a  halt 
for  a  week.  There  was  plenty  of  sport,  plenty  of  deer  and 
antelopes  in  the  woods,  to  say  nothing  of  monster  lions  and 
lordly  tigers,  while  herds  of  elephants  went  crashing  past 
them  at  times,  and  rhinoceroses  scoured  the  valleys. 

The  country  was  not  only  wildly  romantic,  but  the 
heaths,  geraniums,  and  other  flowers  were  very  pretty. 
There  were  tall  trees  adorned  with  flowers  at  which  Mite 
marvelled.  There  were  birds  of  every  shade  of  plumage 


The  Home  of  the  Gorillas.  287 

and  birds  of  every  size,  in  such  numbers  that  they  posi- 
tively darkened  the  air  like  clouds  as  they  flew. 

It  would  be  difficult  indeed  to  tell  my  readers  one  half  of 
what  these  woods  contained,  but  there  was  a  race  of  crea- 
tures that  Mite  found  the  first  signs  of,  that  did  not  add 
either  to  the  beauty  or  safety  of  the  woods.  These  were 
gorillas.  They  lived  in  the  deepest,  darkest  recesses  of 
the  forest,  and  very  terrible  they  were  in  shape  and 
appearance. 

One  encounter,  and  only  one,  with  a  monster  gorilla  is 
worthy  of  record.  Sool  on  this  occasion  was  the  hero  ;  nor 
had  the  battle  been  one  of  his  seeking,  but  forced  upon 
him.  Indeed,  as  commander  of  the  expedition,  Stanley 
had  given  strict  injunctions  that  no  one  was  ever  to  take 
life  for  the  mere  sake  of  killing.  In  self-defence,  or  for  the 
sake  of  providing  food  for  the  party,  was  a  different 
matter. 

Sool  met  his  antagonist  while  out  with  Mite  and  Tom  in 
a  tiny  boat,  all  being  bent  on  a  foraging  excursion.  The 
creek  into  which  they  ventured  was  the  back  reach  of  a 
great  river.  It  went  winding  away  westwards,  between 
two  lofty  wooded  mountains,  and  was  nowhere  of  any  very 
great  breadth,  but  the  mighty  trees  grew  close  down  to  the 
water's  edge,  and,  as  there  was  not  the  slightest  portion  of 
underwood  nor  even  creepers,  and  no  branches  grew  on  the 
two  lower  thirds  of  the  tree  trunks,  viewed  from  the  water 
the  forest  in  many  places  had  the  appearance  of  a  vast  and 
dimly-lighted  cavern,  where  great  pillars  supported  a  series 
of  vaulted  roofs.  This  was  the  home  of  the  gorillas,  and  it 
was  a  place  few  would  care  to  visit. 

Our  friends  were  fishing,  and,  considering  the  black 
depth  of  water,  getting  very  good  sport  indeed.  Tom  was 
rowing,  when  snap  went  one  of  the  small  oars. 

"This  is  provoking,"  said  Tom. 

"  Yes,  and  five  miles  from  camp,"  said  Mite. 

"Won't  it  mend  ?  "  he  added. 


288  Stanley  Grahame. 

"  There  is  nothing  to  mend  it  with/'  replied  Tom  ;  "  and 
that  just  teaches  us  a  lesson,  never  to  discard  tools  or  gear 
from  a  boat,  by  way  of  lightening  her,  when  going  from 
home." 

"Now  if  we  had  but  taken  friend  Sool's  advice 

"  There  is  one  way,  gentlemen,"  said  Sool. 

"  What  is  that  ?  " 

"  To  land  and  cut  a  branch." 

"  Seems  the  only  alternative,"  said  Mite. 

"  But  a  terribly  risky  one,"  added  Tom. 

"  I'll  take  the  risk,"  said  Sool,  smiling. 

The  boat  was  accordingly  urged  towards  the  bank. 

"  Don't  you  leave  the  boat !  "  cried  Sool,  springing  on 
shore. 

"  And  don't  you  go  far  away.''  This  last  from  Mite,  one 
of  the  prevailing  traits  of  whose  character  was  caution. 

I  have  already  said  there  was  no  underwood,  and  Sool 
knew  enough  to  prevent  his  venturing  on  a  voyage  of 
discovery  up  through  the  partial  darkness  of  those  deep 
woods. 

As  he  had  to  climb,  a  near  tree  would  do  as  well  as  any 
other.  He  soon  made  his  choice,  divested  himself  of  both 
turban  and  jacket,  girded  his  loins  up  and  slung  his 
hatchet,  and  up  he  \vent  as  easily  as  if  it  had  been  a  stair 
he  was  climbing. 

"  Look  !  "  cried  Tom,  "  look  at  that.  Why  auld  Sool  is 
like  a  cat  amang  the  limbs." 

"  Limbs  of  what  ?  "  asked  mischievous  Mite. 

"  His  ain  limbs,"  was  the  reply ;  "  he  hasn't  gotten  the 
length  o'  the  limbs  o'  the  tree  yet.  But  he'll  no  be  lang. 
Ma  conscience  :  when  I  was  a  laddie  I  could  get  my  nose 
above  any  hoody  craw's  nest  in  the  country-side.  Look, 
he  is  out  o'  sight  now  amang  the  branches.  May  Providence 
send  him  safely  down  again.  It  is  a  fearfu'— 

Tom  got  no  further.  lie  was  interrupted  by  a  scream  or 
rather  yell  from  the  tree-top,  that  chilled  the  marrow  in. 


The  Home  of  the  Gorillas.  289 

their  bones.  Fierce,  wild,  "eldritch,"  unearthly,  and  de- 
moniacal in  the  intensity  of  its  rage  and  hate.  This  was 
followed  by  a  crashing  of  branches,  then  all  was  still.  The 
silence  appeared  to  those  below  to  last  an  hour,  but  it  was 
broken  at  last  by  the  rushing  descent  of  what  looked  like  a 
human  form  of  immense  proportions.  It  reached  the  earth 
with  a  dull  thud,  and  lay  extended  on  the  ground  in  all  its 
ghastliness — a  gigantic  gorilla.  A  branch  came  down 
nearly  immediately  afterwards,  and  then  Sool  himself.  No, 
not  quite  so  fast,  but  he  needed  all  the  speed  he  could 
muster,  for  presently  the  whole  wood  resounded  with  yells, 
and  Sool  had  hardly  time  to  get  into  the  boat,  push  it  off 
shore,  dragging  the  branch  after  him,  ere  as  many  dusky 
forms  were  seen  as  to  fully  convince  them  that  these  dark 
woods  were  indeed  the  home  of  the  gorilla. 

Monkeys  in  millions  of  all  kinds  inhabit  the  woods  and 
hills  of  Africa,  but  the  non-dangerous  classes  of  them  fre- 
quent the  sunnier  or  opener  forests.  A  merry  life  they 
seem  to  lead  too ;  they  are  ever  on  the  chatter,  and  ever 
playing  little  harmless  jokes  on  each  other.  Indeed  so  fond 
of  fun  are  they,  or  so  full  of  it,  that  it  is  part  of  their  very 
lives  to  prattle  and  play.  But  the  gorilla  is  different  in 
every  way.  He  is  more  solitary  and  retiring,  and  dwells 
remote  in  regions  sometimes  all  but  inaccessible  to  any  but 
the  boldest  of  travellers,  and  he  never  courts  but  shuns  the 
presence  of  man. 

For  all  this,  I  am  loth  to  believe  there  is  not  some  good 
in  the  heart  of  even  a  gorilla.  Having  hauled  the  boat  well 
beyond  the  region  of  danger,  our  heroes  rested  to  look 
shorewards.  A  group  of  gorillas  had  surrounded  the  dead 
one,  but  most  of  them  withdrew  after  a  little,  giving  p>lacc 
to  one  that  had  thrown  itself  on  the  breast  of  the  dead  giant 
with  gestures  of  grief  that  were  almost  human. 

Even  Sool  was  touched  at  the  sight. 

Tom  was  simply  silent. 

"  I  never  would  have  slain  it,"  said  Sool,  "but  had  I  rot 

19 


2  go  Stanley  Grahame. 

struck  in  self-defence  it  would   have  hurled  me  from  the 
tree." 

***** 

For  a  whole  month  after  the  above  adventure  Stanley 
Grahame's  expedition  went  steadily  but  slowly  inland. 
He  was  well  provided  with  money  and  ammunition,  and 
had  a  good  little  army  behind  him,  so  he  determined  to  • 
brook  no  resistance  from  man  or  beast.  The  former  he 
soon  found  more  troublesome,  deceitful,  and  dangerous  to 
life  and  limb  than  the  latter.  Well,  he  kept  a  watchful  eye 
over  everything  that  happened  in  or  near  his  path  of  ad- 
vancement. Cooke  was  soon  able  to  travel,  and  Bill  cared 
little  for  pain,  but  hardly  had  the  march  been  resumed  ere 
the  party  fell  in  with  kraals.  Some  of  the  tribes  he  came 
among  were  small.  These  Stanley  could  afford  to  despise. 
He  rewarded  honesty  with  a  string  or  two  of  beads,  he 
scorned  cajolery,  and  when  he  met  with  a  display  of  force 
he  showed  a  bold  front.  He  would  not  be  turned  aside. 
This  soon  led  to  skirmishes.  But  these  had  more  the  effect 
of  detaining  him  than  anything  else.  None  of  these 
savages  had  ever  seen  or  heard  firearms.  Sometimes  when 
they  pressed  threateningly  upon  Stanley's  brave  little  party, 
the  order  was  given  to  fire  a  volley  with  blank  cartridges. 
This  at  first  had  the  desired  effect.  It  sent  the  tribes  back 
very  speedily  indeed.  But  it  came  to  pass  that  when  they 
found  none  of  their  tribe  hurt,  they  took  heart,  and  matters 
looked  a  deal  more  serious.  A  ball  cartridge  or  two  mended 
matters  entirely,  and  the  tribe  kept  at  a  respectful  distance. 
When  they  had  followed  for  some  time  they  dropped 
back  and  away  altogether,  because  they  respected  boun- 
daries, and  no  chief  was  foolish  enough  to  invade  the 
territory  of  another,  or,  as  Tom  phrased  it,  to  put  foot  on 
another  man's  land. 

They  came  at  last  to  one  tribe,  and  a  very  large  one  it 
was,  who  were  ten  times  more  friendly  than  any  of  the 
others  As  soon  as  these  people  found  out  that  the  expe 


"  The  Kin  or  with  the  Click:'  291 

o  * 

dition  had  not  come  to  despoil  them,  they  welcomed  it  with 
open  arms.  The  king,  a  very  reverend  looking  old  patri- 
arch, averred,  with  much  gesticulation,  that  if  Stanley 
cared  to  stay  and  make  this  country  his  home,  all  that  he 
— the  king — possessed  should  be  at  his  service. 

A  strange  country  this  indeed,  an  oasis  of  civilization  in 
a  desert  of  savagery.  They  cultivated  land,  grew  rice  and 
curry,  they  had  pigs  and  goats,  and  they  wore  a  cloth  of 
grass,  which  they  manufactured  themselves.  They  seldom 
went  on  the  war-path,  and  never  except  on  strict  defence. 
The  name  of  the  king  was  N'tooba,  and  our  people  called 
the  place  N'tooba  Land.  (The  apostrophe  after  the  N  repre- 
sents a  kind  of  sound  like  a  "  click  "  made  with  the  tongue. 
Country  people  at  home  make  a  similar  or  nearly  similar 
noise  when  urging  a  horse  to  advance.) 

The  king  prevailed  upon  them  to  stay  with  him  for 
three  whole  days.  Stanley  was  the  less  disinclined  to 
accede  to  this  request  because  it  would  give  his  boys 
a  rest,  and  he  had  a  notion  they  would  all  need  their 
strength  ere  long.  But  they  received  much  information 
about  the  lay  of  the  land  and  the  strength  of  the  Makalala 
warriors. 

There  was,  they  were  told,  wooded  land  to  the  south, 
with  many  wild  beasts  in  it,  then  a  great  lake,  with  an 
island,  then  the  country  of  the  Makalala.  But  eastward 
was  a  land  they  must  of  all  things  avoid.  It  was  peopled 
by  millions  of  fearful  and  spiteful  dwarfs,  who  lived  on 
tree-tops  or  in  holes  in  the  earth,  and  were  the  terror  of  ail 
the  tribes  for  hundreds  of  miles  on  every  side. 

Stanley  was  unable  to  learn  then  whether  these  creatures 
were  really  human  beings  or  wild  beasts. 

When  the  day  for  departure  arrived,  old  N'tooba — "the 
king  with  the  click,"  as  Mite  called  him — was  in  great 
grief.  He  entreated  Stanley  with  tears  in  his  eyes  to 
change  his  mind.  Of  one  thing,  he  said,  he  felt  certain, 
and  that  was  that  neither  he — Stanley — nor  any  of  his 


29  2  Stanley  Grahame. 

people  would  ever  come  alive  out  of  the  country  of  the 
drecded  Makalala. 

Stanley  had  made  up  his  mind  to  try,  at  all  events,  and 
so  he  told  the  old  man,  but  he  promised  to  keep  clear 
of  the  country  of  the  dwarfs. 

Then,  bidding  the  "king  with  the  click"  an  affectionate 
farewell,  they  journeyed  on,  and  were  soon  after  swallowed 
up  in  the  darkness  of  a  great  forest. 


XXIII. 

THE  LAKE  OF  THE  WIZARD  WATERS— IDA'S  ISLE- 
FATHER  AND  DAUGHTER— SIGNS  OF  THE  COMING 
STRUGGLE. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

THE    LAKE    OF   THE   WIZARD  WATERS — IDA'S  ISLE — FATHER  AND 
DAUGHTER SIGNS  OF  THE  COMING  STRUGGLE. 

IN  the  centre,  in  the  very  heart,  one  might  say,  of  the 
Dark  Continent  is  a  lake,  that  the  warlike  tribes  and 
peoples  who  dwell  in  these  regions  call  Unga  Noona,  or 
the  lake  of  the  wizard  waters.  It  lies  a  few  degrees  south 
of  the  equator,  and  about  midway,  if  my  memory  serves 
me  aright,  betwixt  the  western  and  eastern  shores  of  Africa. 
Hardly  an  atlas  you  are  likely  to  possess  will  be  able  to 
show  you  its  exact  bearings,  for  in  most  maps  the  region 
hereabouts  is  marked  "  desert,"  or  more  truthfully  "  unex- 
plored." It  is,  nevertheless,  one  of  the  most  wildly  fertile 
and  beautiful  districts  in  the  whole  of  equatorial  Africa. 

Our  story  commenced  with  a  brief  description  of  the 
great  forest  of  Cairntrie,  near  which  our  chief  hero,  Stanley 
Grahame,  spent  the  first  years  of  his  boyhood.  Lovely 
indeed  is  this  forest,  with  its  wealth  of  waving  woodlands, 
its  mountains  snow-capped  till  far  into  the  summer,  its 
mighty  pine-trees,  its  lonely  glades  and  glens,  and  fairy- 
haunted  dells.  Lovely,  indeed,  but  nothing  to  compare  to 
the  grandeur  and  romance  of  the  scenery  around  Unga 
Noona. 

The  very  memory  of  my  own  mountains  has  seemed 
dwarfed  as  I  gazed  upon  the  hills  that  here,  in  pile  above 
pile,  and  tier  above  tier,  yet  mostly  tree-clad  to  the  summits, 
pierce  the  blue  of  the  sky  in  this  land  of  eternal  summer. 
The  waterfalls  of  Scotland  would  sink  into  the  merest 


2g6  Stanley  Grahame. 

insignificance  in  view  of  the  mighty  cataracts  that  dash  and 
foam,  and  fall  and  bound  from  rock  to  rock  in  the  river-beds 
here.  Scotia's  rivers  would  seem  but  burns  beside  the 
majesty  of  the  great  sheets  of  water  that  in  these  regions 
move  onwards  to  seek  the  far-off  seas. 

Unga  Noona !  It  is  a  strange  name ;  nor  is  the  lake  in 
itself  a  large  one,  albeit  the  river  that  feeds  it  falls  sheer 
down  into  the  waters  beneath  from  a  precipice  many 
hundreds  of  feet  high,  causing  the  water  to  bubble  and  boil 
for  miles  around,  and  shaking  the  woods  that  wave  luxu- 
riantly on  its  shores.  In  length  barely  fifty  miles,  and  in 
width  nowhere  exceeding  ten.  Yet  the  savage  races  who 
live  near  it  look  upon  it  with  a  kind  of  superstitious  reve- 
rence and  dread.  So  clear  is  the  water  of  Unga  Noona, 
that  fathoms  beneath  its  surface,  when  the  sun  shines,  can 
be  seen  the  gliding,  gambolling  fish,  and  eels  that  wriggle 
and  glide  hither  and  thither,  or  hide  themselves  in  the 
silvery  sand. 

Unga  Noona  I  The  lake  of  the  wizard  waters  I  It  bears 
a  charmed  reputation,  and  I  have  been  told  that  these 
waters  will  cure  all  the  ills  of  man  or  of  beast,  that  the 
hunted  koodoo  or  fleet  inkonka  has  but  to  dip  its  parched 
lips  in  the  lake  to  restore  itself  to  life  and  energy,  and  that 
wild  beasts,  the  lion,  the  tiger,  the  black  rhinoceros  and 
hyaena,  come  from  afar  through  jungle  and  forest  to  drink 
the  limpid  waters,  and  bear  for  ever  after  a  life  that  may 
defy  spear  or  arrow  of  native  sportsman.  Strange  noises 
they  say  are  often  heard  after  nightfall  coming  from  the 
bosom  of  this  lake,  and  chiefs  that  have  died  of  wounds  or 
fallen  in  battle  are  said  to  glide  bird-like  over  its  surface  in 
the  starlight,  uttering  cries  that  make  the  blood  of  the 
listener  turn  cold  and  his  flesh  creep.  I  believe  nothing  of 
all  this ;  yet  true  enough  it  is  that  there  are  times  when 
the  bosom  of  limpid  Unga  Noona  is  seen  to  be  ruffled  as  if 
a  spirit  troubled  its  waters,  or  as  if  a  breeze  were  blowing 
over  it,  the  while  there. is  not  so  much  as  a  breath  of  air  to 


Ida's  Isle.  297 

rustle  the  leaves  of  the  feathery  palms,  or  toy  with  the 
foliage  of  the  silver  acacia. 

Some  fifteen  miles  from  the  south-eastern  end  of  Unga 
Noona,  and  about  five  from  either  shore,  there  is  a  lofty 
wooded  mountain  island.  I  cannot  better  describe  it,  for 
the  whole  isle  is  but  a  hill  cut  off  at  the  top,  and  tree- 
covered  on  every  side.  In  the  distant  ages  of  the  past, 
there  is  little  doubt,  this  was  a  burning  mountain,  for  the 
top  even  now  is  hollow,  a  crater  in  fact,  but,  as  we  shall 
presently  see,  fertile  in  flower  and  foliage  of  every  kind 
indigenous  to  the  district.  In  the  centre  of  the  hollow  top 
is  a  bubbling  spring  of  purest  water.  May  not,  deep  down 
beneath  this  beautiful  island,  fires  still  smoulder,  and  may 
this  not  account,  in  a  great  measure,  for  the  troubled  appear- 
ance of  the  lake  at  times,  and  for  the  strange  sounds  and 
noises  that  seem  to  emanate  from  its  bosom  ? 

Let  us  land  on  this  mysterious  island. 

It  is  a  lovely  morning.  Gazing  shorewards  from  our 
skiff,  that  bounds  swiftly  over  the  waters,  we  can  hardly 
imagine  that  the  woods  on  either  side  of  this  lake,  that 
seem  to  sleep  so  peacefully  in  the  sunshine,  could  harbour 
aught  of  danger  or  evil,  or  that  yonder  village  half  way  up 
the  mountain's  side,  and  from  which  the  smoke  of  many  a 
hut  or  wigwam  is  now  ascending  like  incense  in  the  morn- 
ing air,  was  the  residence  of  a  king  who  sacrifices  to  his 
lust  for  blood  hundreds  of  innocent  victims  annually,  who 
counts  skulls  as  hunters  do  tails  of  beasts  killed  in  the 
chase,  and  builds  stacks  of  them  before  the  blood -reeking 
threshold  of  his  miserable  kraal.  But  so  it  is,  for  in  that 
village  dwells  Lambabeela,  who  dominates  with  a  rod  of  iron 
all  the  country  round,  and  all  the  tribes  that  dwell  therein. 
He  is  king  of  the  terrible  Makalala — sometimes  called 
Makula-men,  whose  motto  is  "  war,"  constant  war  with 
every  race  they  come  in  contact  with,  and  who,  horrible  to 
say,  capture  victims  but  to  kill  them,  and  rear  slaves  only 
to  minister  to  human  sacrifices. 


298  Stanley   Grahame. 

But  here  on  this  lonely  island  we  are  safe  for  the  time. 
Lambabeela  himself  seldom  visits  it,  his  warriors  still  more 
seldom ;  and  here  is  neither  deadly  snake  nor  treacherous 
wild  beast,  and,  as  we  enter  a  little  leafy  harbour  and 
draw  our  boat  upon  the  green  bank,  we  cannot  help  feeling 
alone.  There  are  bright-winged  butterflies  floating  in  the 
sunshine  that  shimmers  down  through  the  trees,  emerald 
lizards  scarlet-striped  creeping  lazily  on  the  branches,  and 
birds  gorgeously  arrayed  in  black  and  gold,  that  hop  nearer 
and  nearer,  and  gaze  on  us  curiously  with  bright  inquiring 
beads  of  eyes,  then,  twittering  peevishly,  fly  off  again  ;  but 
nothing  to  indicate  by  sight  or  sound  that  we  are  anywhere 
in  the  vicinity  of  human  beings.  But  push  aside  the 
branches  here,  and  lo !  a  little  pathway  ascending  zigzag 
up  the  mountain's  side.  And  we  follow  it,  up  and  up  and 
up,  through  bush  and  brake,  through  wild  flowers  and 
ferns.  So  steep  is  the  path  that  our  hands  are  fain  to 
clutch  at  every  aiding  branch  or  bush  or  stone.  It  seems 
like  climbing  a  hill  in  a  fairy  tale.  Up,  and  up,  and  up  ; 
where  will  it  lead  us  to  at « last?  But  when  we  pause 
occasionally  to  take  breath  and  look  behind  us,  from  between 
the  branches  and  the  tree- stems  we  catch  glimpses  of 
scenery  so  wildly  charming,  so  picturesquely  lovely,  that 
were  I  poet  and  painter  both  in  one,  I  would  fail,  if  I  tried, 
to  give  my  readers  any  just  notion  of  it. 

But  here  we  are  at  the  top  at  last,  and  a  cool  breeze  fans 
our  faces.  We  have  reached  the  edge  of  the  crater  of,  or 
depression  in,  this  extinct  volcano,  and  looking  downwards 
we  find  the  surface  of  it  is  acres  in  extent,  and  only  some 
twelve  feet  below  the  top  of  the  hill,  which  in  some  parts 
forms  a  continued  unbroken  wall  of  rock,  almost  hidden  by 
the  foliage  and  flowers  of  luxuriant  creepers.  In  other 
parts  this  wall  is  not  continuous,  but  broken  up  into  needle- 
like  rocks,  from  between  which  we  can  see  all  the  lovely 
landscape  beneath  us,  lake  and  woods,  hills  and  dales,  and 
mountain  peaks. 


Ida's  Isle.  299 

What  strikes  us  as  strangest  of  all,  however,  is  that  the 
whole  surface  of  the  crater  has  been  transformed  by  human 
hands  into  a  bewitching  landscape  garden.  Here  are  walks 
and  lawns  and  terraces,  trees  laden  with  ripe  fruit,  and 
flowers  of  every  shape  and  colour.  Yonder,  too,  in  the 
centre  is  a  rustic  cottage,  with  walls  bedecked  with  climb- 
ing plants,  and  flowers  trailing  in  festoons  around  porch 
and  verandah.  Truly  the  little  zigzag  path  seems  to  have 
led  us  into  a  kind  of  fairyland. 

A  fountain,  too,  is  playing  on  a  lawn  in  front  of  the 
cottage,  pigeons  strut  cooing  over  its  roof,  and  tame  deer 
and  antelope,  the  tiny  teemba  and  the  fairy-like  ingo-loo-loo 
play  and  gambol  on  the  walks  or  climb  the  rocks  with 
perilous  speed,  and  stand  fearlessly  forth  against  the  blue 
of  the  sky  on  the  very  summit  of  the  crags  that  bound  the 
crater. 

And  this  is  all  I  have  to  tell  you  about  the  mountain  isle 
of  Unga  Noona. 

But  surely  this  aerial  garden  has  both  a  history  and  a 
presiding  genius. 

Alas  !  it  has  both.  With  all  its  beauty  the  place  is  but 
a  prison.  See  yonder,  coming  slowly  down  the  centre 
path,  a  white-haired  man,  partly  clad  in  skins,  and  a  beau- 
tiful girl,  with  dark  eyes  and  sadly  pensive  face,  and  hair 
that  floats  over  her  shoulders  in  wavy  but  careless  luxu- 
riance. She  is  clad  in  gown  of  white  ;  her  hand  leans 
lightly  on  the  old  man's  arm,  seeming  neither  to  seek  nor 
to  afford  support,  for  though  somewhat  bowed  with  care, 
he  is  still  sturdy  and  strong,  and  his  face  has  all  the  hardi- 
ness and  colour  that  is  never  wholly  absent  from  the 
countenances  of  those  who  have  been  used  to  a  life  of 
exposure ;  and  though  slight  in  form  and  wearied  by  years 
of  grief,  there  is  a  glance  in  the  girl's  dark  eyes  which  tells 
of  a  high-born  courage  and  firmness  of  purpose  that  it 
would  be  hard  indeed  utterly  to  subdue. 

He  is  Captain  Ross,  and  she  his  daughter  Ida,  the  quon- 


30O  Stanley  Graham e. 

dam  child-nurse  of  the  wounded  Stanley  Grahame.  We 
already  know  a  little  of  their  story,  but  who  shall  tell  the 
extent  of  their  sufferings  in  all  these  dreary  years  of  impri- 
sonment and  bondage  ?  Wrecked  on  the  treacherous  and 
inhospitable  shores  of-  Somali-land,  captured  and  bound, 
the  child  Ida  and  her  father,  with  many  others,  were 
dragged  inland  a  long  and  terrible  journey,  and  sold  as 
slaves  to  this  black  tyrant  Lambabeela.  Some  of  their 
companions  were  speedily  put  out  of  their  misery,  others 
suffered  from  tortures  previously  to  bitter  death,  and  the 
rest  fell  victims  one  by  one  to  disease  or  violence.  More 
than  one  of  the  latter  had  been  killed  while  trying  to  escape 
from  the  country  of  the  wild  Makalala.  Death  itself  would 
have  been  preferable  to  a  life  of  slavery,  so  thought  Captain 
Ross,  had  he  not  had  his  child  with  him.  For  her  sake  he 
schemed  and  plotted  to  make  life  endurable,  and  he  had 
not  been  many  months  in  the  country  ere  he  was  elevated 
to  the  rank  of  what  might  be  called  Lord  High  Medicine 
Man.  This  served  his  purpose  well.  He  had  some  know- 
ledge of  simple  herbs,  and  with  these  he  managed  to  raise 
many  of  Lambabeela's  officers  and  household  from  danger- 
ous sicknesses.  But  it  was  not  the  medicine  he  gave  them, 
so  he  told  them,  that  worked  such  wonders,  the  inspiration 
came  from  Ida.  If  harm  came  to  her  it  would  soon  be  all 
over.  In  this  he  spoke  truly,  for  he  would  not  long  have 
survived  his  daughter's  death.  In  time  Ross  and  his 
daughter  were  deemed  far  too  precious  to  reside  in  the 
village  or  chief  town  of  the  king's  territory,  and  so  they 
were  taken  to  the  mountain  isle  in  which  we  now  find 
them.  One  or  two  servants  were  allowed  them.  Archie 
Weir — who  had  been  years  in  slavery  before  them— was 
among  the  number. 

By  his  assistance,  and  an  industry  born  of  despair — for 
they  hardly  hoped  ever  again  to  be  free — they  turned  the 
mountain-top  into  the  garden  we  find  it.  Had  this  spot 
been  in  a  civilised  land,  with  all  its  floral  beauty  and  all  its 


Father  and  Daughter.  301 

wealth  of  lovely  foliage,  it  would  indeed  have  appeared  a 
kind  of  earthly  paradise. 

"  And  how  has  my  little  girl  slept  ?  "  said  Captain  Ross, 
passing  one  arm  fondly  round  his  daughter. 

"Oh  !  dear  papa,"  said  Ida,  "  I  had  such  a  dream." 
"What!  more  dreams  ?"  her  father  said,  smiling ;  "very 
well,  let's  sit  down  here,  and  you  shall  tell  me  all  about  it. 
How  pleasant  the  breeze  is,  but  how  warm  the  morning 
sun  I " 

"  Not  there,  father ;  see,  Tom  wants  to  get  up  there." 

Tom  was  a  pet  lizard,  a  great  grey  monster  nearly  as 
large  as  a  small  alligator,  and  ten  times  more  ugly.  Ida 
smoothed  him  tenderly,  nevertheless,  and  Tom  seemed  to 
like  it.  Then  father  and  daughter  turned  away  down 
another  pathway,  where  an  immense  tiger  came  bounding 
towards  them — nay,  not  to  kill  and  eat  them,  but  to  be 
fondled  and  to  be  made  much  of,  then  go  oif  on  the  bound 
again,  making  terrible  pretence  to  catch  and  slay  an  ingo- 
loo-loo. 

But  Ida  was  after  him,  nearly  as  quick  in  all  her  move- 
ments as  he  was. 

A  pretty  picture  it  made — the  creeper-clad  rock  with  the 
tiny  frightened  deer,  against  which  the  great  tiger  was 
making  pretence  to  spring ;  the  young  girl,  both  arms 
round  his  neck,  her  cheek  on  his  broad  brow,  laughingly 
holding  him  back. 

She  went  next  and  pulled  a  twig  from  a  bush,  and  . 
denuding  it  of  its  leaves, 

"I  shall  punish  you  most  severely,  Sir  Stanley,"  she 
said,  with  the  air  of  a  queen  of  tragedy. 

The  tiger  threw  himself  on  the  ground,  and  crept  close 
to  her  feet. 

"  There,"  she  cried,  "  I  forgive  you,  but  you  really  must 
go  to  cage  for  an  hour,  for  you  are  positively  frightening 
every  bit  of  appetite  from  my  poor  teembas.  There  now, 
there.  Follow." 


3O2  Stanley  Grahame. 

Her  father  looked  after  her  fondly,  yet  fearfully.  The 
tiger  was  not  the  ordinary  leopard  or  tiger-cat  so  called  of 
Africa,  but  a  real  Bengalese.  It  had  been  brought  as  a 
gift,  when  only  a  cub,  to  Lambabeela,  and  given  by  him  to 
Ida.  Yet  her  father  often  trembled  when  he  saw  the  free- 
dom his  daughter  made  with  the  monster. 

Ida  ran  off  with  Sir  Stanley,  leaving  her  father  alone. 
She  would  be  back,  she  cried,  in  less  than  a  minute ;  but 
if  there  was  one  strange  pet  to  demand  her  attention,  there 
were  fifty  at  least — monkeys  and  mongooses,  goats  and 
deer,  birds  of  every  shape  and  feather,  to  say  nothing  of 
a  variety  of  wonderful  creeping  creatures,  that — not  so 
demonstrative  in  their  affections  as  pets  of  fur  or  feather — 
eyed  her  kindly  from  cool  corners,  under  bushes  or  behind 
rocks  and  stones,  and  would  have  broken  their  hearts  if 
she  had  not  said  a  word  to  each.  So  it  was  fully  half  an 
hour  ere  she  was  free  to  rejoin  her  father.  She  found  him 
seated  in  one  of  the  rocky  embrasures  of  this  strange 
natural  fortification,  spy-glass  in  hand,  anxiousl}r  scanning 
the  mainland. 

A  wonderful  glass  this,  so  thought  the  king  and  the 
chiefs  of  the  Makalala  race.  Most  of  them  had  had  one  peep 
through  it.  None  of  them  would  venture  on  another.  It 
was  part  of  the  wreckage  of  the  good  ship.  It  was  sold 
into  slavery  with  Captain  Ross.  With  it  he  was  supposed 
to  see  into  futurity.  When  he  and  Ida  were  permitted  to 
visit  the  mainland,  he  always  carried  his  glass  drawn  out 
to  its  fullest  extent,  and  sometimes — in  order  to  impress 
the  mob  of  spear-armed  savages  that  never  failed  to  surround 
them — closed  it  with  a  snap  that  sent  a  shudder  through 
the  hearts  of  the  sable  crowd.  If  at  any  time  Captain 
Ross  was,  on  these  great  occasions,  inconveniently  crowded 
by  the  natives,  he  had  but  to  clap  one  eye  to  his  sp}'-glass 
and  point  it  towards  them,  they  fell  back  belter-shelter, 
shrieking  and  yelling,  tumbling  heels  over  head,  as  if  the 
glass  had  been  a  veritable  mitrailleuse  and  he  the  best 


Father  and  Daughter.  303 

gunner  that  ever  pulled  a  lanyard  or  drew  a  trigger.     It 
was  a  handy  glass. 

"  I  knew  I'd  find  you  here,  dear  father,"  said  Ida.  "  You 
have  been  thinking  again,  I  know.  Oh  !  father,  and  you 
promised  not  to." 

"And  you  have  been  dreaming,  Ida.  There,  we  are 
quits.  Come  and  sit  beside  me,  and  tell  me  your  dream." 

"  On  one  condition,  father — that  you  tell  me  your 
thoughts.  There  is  an  anxious  look  in  your  face  that 
hardly  accords  with  the  hope  in  my  heart." 

"  The  hope  raised  by  a  dream,  Ida  ?  "  replied  the  father, 
smiling. 

"Not  altogether,"  said  Ida:  "you  and  mamma  taught 
me  to  pray.  I  have  prayed,  oh !  so  earnestly,  that  I  feel 
He  will  hear  us  at  last,  and  take  us  away  from  here — 
away  from  the  vicinity  of  these  terrible  savages.  I  dreamt 
such  a  happy  dream.  It  was  about  our  old  home,  and 
about  dear  old  Beaumont  Park.  We  were  there,  you  and 
I  and  Stanley,  of  whom  you  have  heard  me  talk  so  much. 
He  looked  so  brave  and  tall,  and  all  a  hero." 

The  girl  paused  for  a  moment  and  gazed  away  at  the 
distant  landscape;  then  she  sighed,  and  seating  herself 
beside  her  father  she  nestled  close  to  his  shoulder,  as  she 
continued, — 

"Yes,  I  have  hope.  Such  hope  too  as  I  never  had 
before." 

"  I  fear  poor  Archie  would  never  reach  the  coast,"  said 
Captain  Ross. 

"  Oh !  but  Mbooma,  father,  you  forget  our  poor  boy. 
There  is  nothing  Mbooma  would  not  do  for  us." 

"Our  own  people  here  in  this  place,  Ida — can  we  quite 
trust  them  ?  " 

Ida  ran  rapidly  over  the  names  of  eight  men  who  lived 
in  the  island  garden  with  them.  English  names  every  one 
of  them,  though  they  were  black  men,  savages.  Nay,  not 
now,  for  Ida  had  not  left  them  in  their  darkness  all  these 


304  Stanley  Grahame. 

years.  She  had  taught  them  to  pray,  and  though  books 
were  things  unknown  in  these  regions,  Captain  Ross  and 
Ida  every  morning  and  evening  gathered  them  together 
and  told  them  tales,  and  one  tale  that  they  all  delighted 
most  to  listen  to  was  the  Gospel  tale — the  story  of  the 
cross.  There  were  in  addition  to  these  men,  or  boys  as 
Captain  Ross  called  them,  three  female  servants,  one  a 
grey-haired  negress  who  took  quite  an  interest  in  her 
"  dear  chile  Idee,"  as  she  called  our  heroine. 

"  Trust  them,  father !  Yes,  they  would  die  for  us.  But 
why  do  you  ask  that  question  now?  Speak,  father,  speak  ! 
You  frighten  me." 

"You  are  so  young,  Ida — a  child.  I  fear  to  alarm  you, 
and  yet " 

"  Fear  nothing  for  me,  father,  I  am  quite  old.  Oh  ! 
think  of  what  we  have  come  through  and  suffered  together. 
Could  anything  be  more  terrible  ?  Not  death,  fathei — no, 
not  even  death." 

He  drew  her  close  towards  him. 

"  Ida,"  he  said,  "  last  night  when  you  slept  I  was  up  on 
our  watch-tower  yonder.  It  is  five  miles  to  Lambabeela's 
camp,  but  sound  travels  far.  There  was  much  commotion, 
much  wild  shouting,  and  tom-toms  were  beaten  all  the 
night.  The  tribe  is  at  war  and  preparing  to  resist  invasion. 
Who  dares  to  carry  war  into  the  land  of  the  Makalalas  ? 
Who  would  draw  sword  against  the  invincible  Lambabeela  ? 
Ida,  dear,  no  black  chief  would." 

"Oh  !  then,"  cried  Ida,  clapping  her  hands  joyfully, 
"  they  are  coming,  our  friends  are  coming,  Stanley  and  his 
men  are  coming ! " 

"  Ida,''  said  her  father,  "  I  both  hope  and  fear.  It  is 
now  a  year  and  a  half  since  those  letters  which  you  so 
cherish  came  from  Stanley  Grahame.  He  had  then  but 
a  handful  of  followers.  He  was  being  beaten  back  towards 
the  coast  by  a  cloud  of  armed  savages.  I  dread  lest  neither 
he  nor  Mbooma  ever  reached  Zanzibar  again.  But  while 


"  A   True-born  American  Lass."       305 

I  dread,  I  hope  Archie  or  Stanley,  one  or  the  other,  will 
try  to  rescue  us.  But,  darling,  the  moment  victory  should 
declare  itself  in  the  white  man's  favour  might  be  our  last. 
And  that  is  why  I  asked  you  could  you  trust  our  boys." 

"Father,"  said  Ida  boldly,  "you  mean  to  defend  this 
hill." 

She  stood  erect  before  him  as  she  spoke ;  she  looked  all 
a  heroine  then. 

"  I  will  help  you,  father.     Leave  the  boys  to  me." 
Ross  smiled  and  pressed  her  hand. 

"  You  are  a  true-born  American  lass,"  he  said.     "  Now, 
dear,  for  years  I  have  worked  at  these  ramparts.     The  hill 
is  inaccessible  at  all  parts  save  one  or  two." 
"  You  worked,  father  ?  " 

"Ay,  Ida,  hour  after  hour,  under  the  moon  and  under 
the  stars,  when  you  and  every  one  were  fast  sleep,  because 
I  always  had  an  idea  some  terrible  day  might  come  when 
we  would  have  to  sell  our  lives  dearly.  Yes,  nature  has 
placed  a  rampart  of  rocks  around  this  hill  that  no  savage 
could  scale.  With  six  good  men  and  true  I  can  hold  the 
place  for  weeks." 

"  Why,  children,"  said  an  aged  but  active-looking  negress, 
"  whateber  is  you  about  ?  Dinner  'as  been  ready  for  one, 
two  hour  an'  more,  and  poor  ole  Sarah  waitin'  all  dat  time. 
Come,  missie  dear,  I  sartin  sure  you  is  plenty  hungry. 
All  de  boys  dey  go  to  work  agen,  hoe,  hoe,  hoe ;  can't  you 
hear  dem  sing  de  hymns  o'  de  hallelujahs  ?  Come,  missie, 
come." 

There  are  no  human  beings  more  to  be  depended  upon  as 
servants  to  a  white  master  than  those  same  natives  of  the 
interior  of  the  Dark  Continent,  when  their  savage  nature 
has  been  tamed,  and  when  they  have  once  learned  the 
glad  tidings  of  salvation.  Learned,  that  is,  to  look  beyond 
all  that  is  sad  and  sorrowful  here  below,  to  that  land  where 
there  shall  be  no  more  sorrow  or  crying. 

At  eventide  that  day,  and  ere  the  sun  had  gone  down, 

20 


306  Stanley  Grahame. 

every  one  on  Ida's  Isle  gathered  to  prayers  and  praise,  in 
what  Ida  always  called  "  the  best  room."  Her  father 
strolled  out  afterwards,  but  she  beckoned  to  her  people  to 
stay.  She  sang  to  them  the  sweet  songs  of  her  far-off 
native  land.  They  listened  entranced.  She  ceased,  they 
were  silent,  but  in  through  the  casement  came  the  notes 
of  the  bulbul  and  the  wah-moo-lee.  They  had  taken  up 
the  chorus. 

Mammie  Sarah  broke  the  silence. 

"  Sing  to  us,"  she  said,  "  '  By  Babel's  streams.' " 

Ida  began, 

"  '  By  Babel's  streams  we  sat  and  wept, 

When  Zion  we  thought  on, 
Amidst  thereof  we  hung  our  harps 
The  willow-trees  upon.'  " 

Poor  Ida !  she  got  no  further,  but  burst  into  tears. 

"  Oh,  my  lammie  ! "  cried  Sarah,  fondling  her  as  if  she 
had  been  a  child.  "  What  for  you  cry  ?  You  catchee 
grief.  Tell  Mammie  Sarah." 

Ida  looked  about  her  just  for  a  moment.  She  saw  only 
sympathy  in  every  eye.  She  was  reassured.  She  stood 
erect,  and  dashed  aside  her  tears.  She  was  the  brave 
American  lass  once  more. 

"  God  bless  you  all !  "  she  cried.  "  I  can  trust  you.  But 
we  are  to  be  attacked.  My  father  means  to  fight." 

She  repeated  the  words  in  the  Somali  or  Makalala 
tongue. 

"Bless  Ida!  bless  Ida!"  they  cried  in  chorus.  "We 
fight,  we  fight,  we  die  for  Ida  !  " 

Ida,  brave  as  she  was,  stood  almost  aghast  at  the  storm 
she  had  raised.  But  she  was  satisfied  from  that  hour. 

All  that  day  and  all  the  next  not  a  canoe  came  from  the 
mainland,  but  signs  of  the  coming  strife  were  audible 
enough  in  the  village  of  the  king ;  tom-toms  still  beat,  and 
shrieks  or  war-cries  were  heard  even  at  that  distance. 


Good  Tidings.  307 

The  sun  went  down  in  a  sea  of  lurid  glory  that  bathed 
hills  and  dales  and  woods. 

Captain  Ross  and  Ida  sat  together  on  the  highest  rampart 
long  after  the  moon  rose  and  made  everything  bright  and 
clear.  No  one  thought  of  retiring. 

Suddenly  a  shriek  from  Mammie  Sarah. 

"  De  black  spirit  on  de  water  !  "  she  cried.     "  Look  !  " 

Only  Sarah's  eyes  could  see  it.  In  a  few  minutes  more, 
on  the  rampart  near  them  and  betwixt  them  and  the  moon, 
a  tall,  thin  figure  stood. 

Next  moment  Mbooma  was  by  their  side. 

Poor  faithful  boy  Brown  !  For  more  than  fifty  miles 
through  the  dark  woods  and  over  the  hills  he  had  come  all 
alone,  and  swam  the  lake  to  carry  the  good  tidings  to  Ida 
and  her  father  that  Stanley  was  coming  to  save  them. 


XXIV. 

FIG HJ  WITH  DWARFS— STORMING  OF  IDA'S  ISLE  BY 
SAVAGES— REPULSE— BOY  GREEN  TO  THE  FORE- 
WAR  IN  LAMBABEELAS  LAND. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

FIGHT  WITH    DWARFS — STORMING   OF  IDA*S  ISLE   BY  SAVAGES 

REPULSE BOY    GREEN    TO    THE    FORE — WAR  IN   LAMBA- 

BEELA'S  LAND. 

THREE  whole  weeks  and  over  have  passed  away  since 
the  night  Mammie  Sarah  saw,  as  she  said,  "the 
black  spirit  moving  "  on  the  moonlit  waters  of  Unga  Noona 
— since  the  night  the  boy  Mbooma  dropped  silently  down 
from  the  ramparts  and  stood  beside  Captain  Ross  and  Ida. 

How  eagerly  they  had  questioned  the  lad ;  how  much  he 
had  to  tell  them ;  how  many  messages  he  had  to  bear  back 
to  brave  Stanley  and  his  followers  ! 

"  In  two  day  more  dey  come,"  Mbooma  had  said  re- 
peatedly, holding  up  two  yellow  fingers  as  he  spoke,  and 
smiling.  Even  this  was  a  long  speech  in  English  for 
Mbooma — a  language  that  he  understood,  but  was  ever  shy 
of  using.  But  the  occasion  demanded  English  even  from 
Mbooma.  "  In  two  day  more  dey  come ;  plenty  spear, 
too,  plenty  gun ;  make  plenty  much  bobbery,  plenty  much 
fight ;  take  Massa  Ross  'way,  'way  to  good  land,  and  poor 
little  Missie  Eeda  too." 

And  silently  as  he  had  come,  so  silently  went  he,  ere  the 
moon  had  sunk  in  the  west,  and  while  there  was  still  light 
enough  for  him  to  make  his  way  to  the  northern  shore  of 
Lake  Unga  Noona.  Ida's  heart  bled  for  the  poor  boy,  but 
as  she  pressed  his  hand  her  soul  was  full  of  hope,  though 
the  tears  were  trickling  down  her  face. 


312  Stanley  Grahame 

"In  two  day  more  dey  come,"  the  boy  had  said.  But 
where  were  they  all  this  weary  time,  and  what  had  befallen 
the  captive's  would-be  deliverers  in  the  forest-land  and 
jungle  of  that  unknown  country,  where  foot  of  white  man 
had  never  before  been  planted  ? 

Mbooma  had  left  them  slowly  advancing— slowly,  but 
surely — with  little  to  stay  their  progress  except  the  diffi- 
culties that  ever  beset  a  journey  through  an  unknown  land 
— the  intricacies  of  the  jungle,  the  carrying  of  heavy  loads 
over  mountains  and  through  gorges,  the  fording  of  streams, 
or  wading  through  plains  of  grassy  land  far  more  difficult 
to  traverse  than  any  American  prairie  or  wilderness. 

But  no  sooner  had  Mbooma — or  boy  Brown,  as  he  was 
called  in  the  camp — left  in  order  to  carry  the  good  tidings  to 
Ida  and  her  father  than  a  change — and  a  strange  one,  too — 
came  over  the  spirit  of  the  adventurers'  dream.  They  were 
attacked  by  the  dwarfs.  Not  in  open  day  came  those 
hideous  creatures  to  fight  them,  but  by  night,  when,  save 
the  sentinels,  the  whole  camp  was  wrapt  in  slumber,  and 
poisoned  arrows  were  showered  amongst  them,  many  being 
wounded  at  the  first  volley.  It  was  in  a  gorge  of  the  forest 
where  the  attack  was  made ;  out  in  the  open  they  could 
have  seen  their  foe,  but  here  was  no  clearing;  the  whole 
space  betwixt  N'tooba's  country  and  Lake  Unga  Noona  is, 
or  was  then,  a  vast  primeval  forest. 

From  such  a  foe,  in  such  a  place,  and  at  such  a  time, 
defence  was  almost  impossible.  Rifles  were  fired  and 
charges  made  in  the  direction  from  which  the  arrows  seemed 
to  come  throughout  the  whole  night,  and  the  hideous  yells 
that  occasionally  followed  the  firing  told  that  some  at  least 
of  the  shots  had  taken  effect.  But  the  unseen  foe  seemed 
to  know  no  fear,  and  so  the  strange  battle  was  kept  up  till 
nearly  morning. 

Gone  !  They  were  gone  when  the  sun  rose,  and,  saving 
some  pools  of  blood  here  and  there,  they  had  left  no  trace 
behind,  and  although  the  forest  was  scoured  for  miles 


Attacked  by  Dwarfs.  313 

around  the  camp,  no  sign  of  human  life  or  habitation  was 
visible. 

Meanwhile  Stanley's  men  had  suffered  severely ;  ten  lay 
dead,  fifteen  more  were  wounded,  but  these  were  saved  by 
Sambo,  who  found  an  antidote  for  the  poison  growing  in  the 
woods.  Saved  from  death,  but  not  from  sickness,  they  lay 
as  if  dead,  with  swollen  limbs  and  heads,  rolling  their  eyes 
in  agony  and  opening  their  lips  only  to  beg  for  water. 
To  Stanley's  intense  sorrow,  Big  Bill  was  among  the 
wounded. 

To  pioceed  farther  for  some  time  was  impossible,  so  the 
camp  was  removed  to  somewhat  higher  ground,  axes  were 
set  to  work,  and  a  rampart  built  of  fallen  trees  and  earth, 
and  before  nightfall  they  were  comparatively  safe.  No  fires 
were  lit,  however.  They  were  willing  to  risk  death  from 
the  talons  of  wild  beasts  rather  than  at  the  hands  of  these 
terrible  and  mysterious  dwarfs. 

There  was  a  strange  and  ominous  silence  throughout  the 
forest  next  night.  Well  our  poor  fellows  knew  what  it 
meant.  The  lions  were  far  away,  the  forest  around  the 
camp  was  occupied  by  a  more  dangerous  and  insidious  foe. 
Under  the  ramparts  lay  some  of  Stanley's  best  marksmen, 
and  the  crack  of  a  rifle  every  now  and  then,  followed  per- 
haps by  a  short,  sharp  yell  of  pain,  told  its  own  tale. 
Arrows  were  flung  into  the  camp,  but  in  almost  every 
instance  they  missed  their  aim.  Daylight  came  at  last,  and 
the  foe  fled.  But  this  time  they  left  one  of  their  wounded ; 
he  had  fallen  inside  the  rampart.  When  found  his  contor- 
tions were  fearful  to  behold.  Too  much  stricken  to  move 
off  his  back,  he  wheeled  round  and  round,  making  as  if 
defending  himself  with  feet  and  hands,  like  a  wounded  wild 
cat.  That  he  expected  torture  was  evident,  for  on  one  of 
Stanley's  men  going  nearer  to  him  he  sprang  at  his  spear, 
which  happened  to  be  lowered,  and  plunged  it  into  his 
heart ;  then,  with  a  grin  of  defiance,  he  fell  back  and  died. 
"Poor  creature  !"  said  kind-hearted  Tom. 


314  Stanley  Grahame. 

Not  much,  if  anything,  over  three  feet  was  the  creature, 
with  hair  that  almost  hid  the  face  and  eyes,  long  ape-like 
arms  and  feet,  powerful  joints,  and  a  face  which,  when  the 
hair  was  pushed  aside,  looked  almost  white  but  fearfully  re- 
pulsive, the  forehead  receding  and  ridged,  the  broad  nose 
squatting  on  the  upper  lip,  and  the  strong  lower  jaw  ex- 
tended like  that  of  a  bull-dog. 

They  buried  him  outside  the  camp. 

On  the  very  day  after  Mbooma's  visit  and  departure, 
greater  stir  than  usual  was  observed  in  the  kraal  of  King 
Lambabeela.  It  was  beyond  a  doubt  now  that  the  tribe 
were  up  in  arms. 

"They  have  heard,  Ida,"  said  Captain  Ross  to  his 
daughter,  "  by  means  of  their  scouts  that  an  expedition  is 
on  its  way  to  rescue  us.  Now  let  us  be  up  and  doing.  Our 
fortress  is  not  yet  impregnable,  but  it  is  nearly  so.  Hope 
for  the  best,  lass;  there  are  brighter  times  before  us." 

"  I  do  so.  hope,"  said  Ida ;  "  indeed,  father,  I  feel  as  if  we 
were  already  leaving  for  home.  Oh  !  think,  father,"  she 
continued,  clapping  her  little  hands  joyfully;  "home, 
father,  our  dear  American  home  !  " 

Only  just  for  a  moment  did  he  press  his  daughter  in  his 
arms  and  imprint  a  kiss  on  her  brow.  In  that  kiss  was  a 
prayer  and  a  blessing. 

It  was  a  busy  day  on  Ida's  Isle.  Mammie  Sarah  was 
busier  apparently  than  anybody  else.  She  was  here,  there, 
and  everywhere.  She  not  only  cooked  the  curry,  but  she 
carried  stones  to  the  ramparts  as  well. 

"  Dear  Mammie  Sarah,"  Ida  remonstrated,  "  you'll  kill 
yourself." 

*'  Kill,  dear  lammie  ? "  was  the  reply.  "  No,  no,  ole 
Mammie  Sarah  no  kill.  Mammie  Sarah  plenty  much  tough- 
tough.  Byme-by  we  fight.  Den  wen  de  w'ite  man  he 
come,  you  take  poor  Mammie  Sarah  off  to  de  'appy  land. 
Dat's  whyfore  Mammie  work  so.  Mammie  not  let  de  curry 
spoil  alls  ame." 


Lambabeeld 's  Council.  315 

And  the  eight  men  of  the  fortress  worked  too,  singing 
little  nonsensical  songs  to  themselves  all  the  time  to  little 
nonsensical  airs,  so  that  Ida  was  sometimes  fain  to  laugh, 
though  her  heart  was  big  with  fear  and  hope  combined. 

Ida's  post  was  on  the  tower,  the  highest  part  of  the  ram- 
part. Beside  her  lay  the  tiger,  his  blinking  eyes  following 
every  look  and  movement  of  his  well-loved  mistress. 

The  day  wore  away  at  last,  and  the  sun  was  just  touching 
the  hill-tops  in  the  west,  when — 

"  Oh,  father,  come  up  !  "  cried  Ida. 

He  was  by  her  side  in  a  moment. 

"  It  is  as  I  thought,"  he  said.  "  One,  two,  three  war- 
canoes.  Give  me  the  glass.  Yes,  filled  with  warriors  of 
the  Makalala  tribe.  Now,  dear  girl,  be  firm.  We'll  have 
to  give  those  murderous  cannibals  an  American  welcome."' 

"  I'm  firm,  father.  I  have  not  the  slightest  fear,"  said 
Ida,  bravely. 

Now  the  fact  is  that  Captain  Ross  was  never  a  favourite 
with  the  medicine  men  of  King  Lambabeela's  kraal.  He 
was  a  rival,  and  from  being  jealous  of  his  power  over  their 
chief  they  turned  to  hate  him.  As  soon,  therefore,  as 
hunters  of  the  tribe  brought  word  to  the  king  that  an  expe- 
ditionary force  of  white  men  was  on  its  way  to  bring 
away  the  captives,  the  king  called  his  chiefs  together,  and 
consulted  his  medicine  men  or  wizards.  These  last  could 
not  tell  what  to  do,  or  what  to  advise,  until  they  had  con- 
sulted their  fetishes.  So  they  got  water  from  the  magic 
lake  and  poured  it  on  their  heads ;  they  killed  cocks  and 
goats  and  drank  the  blood ;  they  besmeared  themselves 
with  clay  and  clotted  gore  ;  and  did  a  great  many  other 
silly  things  which  made  them  look  very  ridiculous  and  smell 
very  high.  I  do  not  think  that  they  hurt  themselves  much, 
however,  with  all  their  mummeries,  though  they  pretended 
to ;  and  danced,  and  shrieked,  and  lay  down,  and  kicked, 
and  foamed  at  the  mouth,  and  grew  blacker  in  the  face  than 
nature  had  made  them.  And  all  the  time  fat  old  King  Lam 


316  Stanley  Grahame. 

babeela  squatted  among  the  skulls  and  bones  in  front  of  his 
wives' — he  had  about  forty — tent  and  drank  rum,  to  get  which 
had  cost  him  the  lives  of  hundreds  of  his  subjects.  He 
drank  rum  and  laughed,  drank  more  and  danced,  drank 
more,  clutched  his  spear,  and  stalked  forth  in  all  his  majesty 
— not  very  steadily,  though.  He  was  splendidly  dressed  ; 
he  wore  over  his  shoulders  a  cloak  of  camel's  hair,  tasselled 
round  with  tobacco-pipes  that  rattled  as  he  walked ;  he 
had  a  Wellington  boot  on  one  leg  and  a  42nd  Highlander's 
stocking  on  the  other.  I  have  not  an  idea  where  he  got 
them,  but  there  they  were.  Round  his  neck  he  had  a  circlet 
of  human  fingerbones,  and  on  his  head  a  small  patent 
Dutch-oven,  ornamented  with  feathers  of  the  ostrich 
and  red  ibis — a  very  handy  helmet  indeed,  because — do 
you  not  see  ? — when  not  on  the  war-path  one  could  -cook 
one's  morsel  of  steak  in  it.  In  his  hand  he  held  a  spear 
surmounted  by  a  skull. 

Lambabeela  cut  off  a  head  or  two  from  the  shoulders  of 
medicine  men  by  way  of  hurrying  matters.  Then  the 
others  gave  their  verdict. 

"  Ida  Ross  and  her  father  must  die." 

The  chiefs  knew  the  drunken  old  king  well.  They  ad- 
vised the  calling  in  of  his  levies  of  soldiers  and — more  rum. 
He  entrusted  the  marshalling  of  his  troops  to  his  officers. 
He  took  charge  of  the  rum  himself.  Meanwhile  the  rum 
took  charge  of  him,  he  fell  asleep,  and  for  a  time  the  curtain 
drops  on  the  camp  of  Lambabeela. 

The  three  war-canoes  were  filled  with  feather-adorned 
savages,  their  chief  one  of  the  most  bloodthirsty  of  Lamba- 
beela's  cut-throat  tribe.  His  last  act  before  leaving  the 
shore  to  attack  Ida's  Isle  was  to  cast  lots  among  the  young 
girls  of  the  tribe,  seventy-seven  of  whom  he  imprisoned  and 
condemned  to  die  on  that  day  of  rejoicing  when  the  army 
of  the  king  should  return  to  the  village,  bearing  in  front  oi 
them  the  heads  of  Stanley  Grahame,  Mite,  arid  every  othel 
white  man  of  the  attacking  expedition. 


The.  Attack.  317 

Now,  Ross's  safety  depended  on  his  being  able  to  guard 
the  one  path  that  led  upwards  to  the  lovely  garden  in  which 
he  dwelt.  Every  other  part  of  the  mountain  island  was 
inaccessible  to  the  feet  of  savages. 

The  war-canoes  approached,  and  neared  the  island  to  the 
beating  of  the  warlike  tom-tom  and  the  jack-snipe  shriek  of 
the  warrior  crews.  They  neared  the  island,  then  all  was 
silent,  and  so  remained  till  long  past  sunset. 

Then  once  more  that  jack-snipe  shriek.  They  were 
coming.  Ross  and  his  men  were  at  their  post,  determined 
to  sell  their  lives  dearly,  if  sell  them  they  must.  They  were 
armed  with  spears,  that  was  all.  But  near  to  them  was  a 
cairn  of  boulders,  each  one  of  which  would  sweep  the  little 
pathway  if  fifty  warriors  were  to  come,  each  one  as  strong 
as  Samson. 

Upwards  they  rush.  Ross  and  his  gallant  band  can  hear 
the  crackling  of  the  twigs  and  branches  as  they  ascend. 
Had  the  path  not  been  zig-zag,  had  it  only  been  straight  up 
the  mountain's  side,  or  had  the  hill  not  been  covered  with 
bushes  and  trees,  then  those  boulders  could  have  been 
brought  into  action  while  the  enemy  was  still  far  away,  and 
done  greater  execution  than  they  now  do ;  yet  no  sooner 
does  the  first  feathered  head  appear  than  a  stone  is  loosened 
and  goes  tumbling  down.  In  vain  is  the  shield  of  buffalo- 
hide  elevated.  The  boulder  does  its  work.  Another  and 
another  follows  with  fearful  rapidity.  Breaking  into  frag- 
ments as  they  roll  down  the  mountain-side,  these  stones 
clear  the  foe  away,-  and  the  attack  is  repelled.  Again  and 
again  during  the  night  it  is  renewed,  but  with  the  same 
results,  and  the  war-cry  of  the  warriors  is  changed  into 
yells  of  pain  and  baffled  vengeance.  All  next  day  the 
defenders  worked  hard  in  order  to  get  more  boulders  intc 
position,  and  at  night  again  the  attack  was  renewed.  More 
canoes  have  come  from  the  mainland.  Loss  of  life  seems 
not  to  deter  them  from  making  attack  after  attack  and  rush 
after  rush.  If  they  could  have  only  got  to  close  quarters, 


3 1 8  Stanley  Grahame. 

it  would  soon  have  been  all  over  with  poor  Ida  and  her 
father. 

Thus  night  after  night  for  many  nights. 

Meanwhile  the  moon  favours  the  foe.  It  is  late  now 
before  she  rises,  so  that  the  ear  must  do  the  work  of  the 
eye,  to  tell  the  defenders  of  the  approach  of  the  foe.  There 
must  not  be  a  hush  heard  above.  But  the  enemy  climb 
to  the  assault  as  silently  as  evil  spirits  might.  . 

The  weary  watching  and  constant  fighting  begin  to  tell 
at  last  on  Ross  and  his  men.  Poor  Ida  moves  around 
pale  now  and  silent.  Why,  why  does  not  Stanley  come  ? 

"If  it  were  not  for  these  trees,"  says  Ross  one  day, 
"  I'd  make  it  hot  for  these  fellows,  that  I  would." 

Ida  hears  him.  She  makes  a  resolve,  and  the  very  next 
morning,  while  her  father  is  snatching  a  few  brief 
moments'  slumber,  and  Mammie  Sarah  is  busy  in  the 
house,  she  tells  the  men  what  she  is  about  to  do,  and, 
although  they  remonstrate,  she  only  bids  them  fear  not  for 
her,  and,  lighted  torch  in  hand,  she  leaves  the  ramparts 
and  steals  quietly  down  the  zigzag  path  towards  the  beach. 

No  one  sees  her,  no  one  hears  her.  Now  she  is  at  the 
foot,  and  quickly  fires  the  grass.  The  savages  are  asleep; 
she  steals  quietly  past  them  and  repeats  the  operation  on 
the  other  side.  Then  flinging  the  torch  still  farther  off, 
she  springs  back  towards  the  path.  Alas  !  she  stumbles  ; 
a  twig  snaps,  and  next  moment  she  finds  herself  pursued. 
Fleet  as  a  deer  is  she,  but  fleeter  of  foot  is  that  fearful 
savage.  He  is  at  her.  He  has  seized  her.  She  faints 
not,  but  shrieks.  All  her  hopes  are  gone ;  death  only 
before  her. 

But  nay,  for  that  shriek  has  brought  help  from  an  un- 
expected quarter.  Next  moment  the  savage  is  writhing  in 
the  death  agony  in  the  talons  of  Ida's  tiger. 

Ida  springs  lightly  up  the  path  and  soon  is  safe.  Sir 
Stanley,  the  tiger,  coolly  follows — with  his  prey. 

In  a   few  moments   the  whole  mountain  is  sheathed   in 


Boy  Green  to  the  Fore.  319 

smoke  and  flame,  and  for  two  days,  fanned  by  the  wind 
that  the  fire  had  raised,  it  continues  to  smoulder.  But 
those  in  the  cone  at  the  top  are  safe,  and,  for  the  time  being, 
happy.  At  night  the  mountain  looked  like  a  vast  cone  of 
fire.  Stanley,  emerging  from  the  forest-land  after  his 
trouble  with  the  dwarfs,  saw  it,  and  his  heart  stood  still 
with  fear. 

Stanley,  coming  to  the  rescue  of  the  prisoners  from  the 
north,  saw  the  burning  mountain  cone ;  boy  Green  and  his 
merry  men,  coming  from  the  south,  saw  it  too ;  but  boy 
Green  simply  wondered  what  it  meant. 

Archie  Weir  was  the  guide  for  this  part  of  the  expedi- 
tion, but  boy  Green  insisted  upon  being  chief. 

"  Which  it's  little  enough,"  the  cheeky  boy  explained. 
"  These  Arab  chaps  are  all  in  my  pay.  They're  my  mer- 
cenaries, and  it's  precious  little  mercy  they'll  have  if  they 
doesn't  stick  up  like  men,  but  I  means  to  give  the  order  on 
the  paymaster  fair  and  square.  If  he  returns  it  marked 
'  No  effecks,'  'tain't  my  look-out,  is  it  ?  " 

Boy  Green's  adventures  in  this  expedition  would  fill  a 
volume.  Many  a  hearty  laugh  Archie  Weir  had  at  his 
daring,  cool,  ridiculous  adventures.  He  was  constantly 
getting  into  "  scrapes,"  as  he  called  them,  with  the  lions 
and  tigers,  but  he  always  got  out  of  them  somehow.  When 
at  last  they  neared  the  country  of  the  Makalala,  boy  Green 
conceived  and  executed  a  piece  of  policy  which  was  really 
not  unworthy  of  a  great  warrior. 

"  I  say,  you  know,"  he  said  to  Weir,  "  we'll  look  rather 
funny  marching  into  old  Kafoozlum's  camp  with  only 
twenty  followers,  won't  we,  old  stick-in-the  gutter  ?  " 

"  Rather,"  said  Weir,  smiling  ;  "  but  maybe  your  friends 
are  there  before  us." 

"But  supposin'  they  ain't,  hey?  .And  supposin'  old 
King  Kafoozlum  thinks  our  heads  will  make  nice  horna- 
ments  for  his  marble  mantelpiece,  hey  ?  What  then,  I 
axes  ?  No ;  I  ain't  a-going  to  risk  my  precious  nut  like 


320  Stanley  Grahame. 

that !     Why,  the  British  navy  would  go  to  the  dogs  with- 
out boy  Green !     Now,  'cross  the  stream  'ere,  we  comes  to 
King  Rumfulli's  country,  hey  ? — so  you  told  me." 
"Umfulli's;  yes." 

"  Well,  'Umfulli   or   Rumfulli,    it's   all   the   same.      He 
doesn't  like  Kafoozlum,  does  he  ?  " 
"  Hates  him  like  poison  !  " 

"  Well,  can't  yer  see  the  game,  dunderhead  ?  We  pits 
/fattffoozlum  against  Kumfoozlum,  and  we  just  stands  aside 
and  sees  'em  peck — hey,  Scottie  ?  " 

Scottie  laughed,  but  he  came  to  the  conclusion,  after  a 
little  cogitation,  that  if  they  could  secure  the  alliance  ot 
Lambabeela's  hereditary  foe,  the  warlike  Umfulli,  they 
would  be  on  the  safe  side.  The  Arabs  were  of  the  same 
opinion. 

"  But  I  don't  know  any  more  than  the  man  in  the  moon 
how  it's  to  be  done,"  said  Weir. 

"No   more   do  I,"   said  boy  Green.     "You  speaks  the 
langwidge,  don't  yer  ?  " 
"Yes,"  said  Weir. 
"  Well,  let's  go  in  and  try."      - 

Two  days  after  this  boy  Green,  at  the  head  of  his  little 
troop,  was  marching  boldly  into  Umfulli's  camp.  He  would 
not  stay  a  moment  to  listen  to  the  palaver  of  the  chiefs. 
He  demanded  audience  of  the  king.  He  never  drew  a 
sword  nor  allowed  his  followers  to  do  so ;  they  mixed  as 
freely  with  those  fierce  savages  as  if  they  had  been  walking 
in  Fleet  Street,  and  as  if  everybody  was  friendly. 

They  found  the  king  squatting  in  the  darkness  of  his 
kraal,  for  the  day  was  fiercely  hot. 

Boy  Green  and  Weir  entered  salaaming,  very  much  to 
the  potentate's  surprise,  who  sprang  to  his  feet  and  seized 
his  spear. 

"Don't  rise,"  said  boy  Green,  affably — "don't  rise, 
Tomfooli ;  we  permits  yer  to  remain  seated  in  our  august 
presence.  Weir,  tell  the  old  chap  all  I  say." 


Boy  Green  Successful  Again.  321 

In  a  few  brief  but  pompous  sentences  boy  Ureen  ex- 
plained what  he  wanted. 

"Now,"  concluded  boy  Green,  "I  gives  you  a  whole 
hour  to  make  up  yer  mind ;  we  goes  and  eats  some  curry 
in  the  meantime.  If  yer  consents  you're  a  made  man.  I'll 
give  an  order  on  the  paymaster  for  all  the  gunpowder  and 
all  the  rice  and  all  the  guns  in  the  ship.  If  yer  doesn't 
consent  we'll  go  on  without  yer.  Twenty  thousand  British 
troops,  more  or  less,  ain't  far  off,  so  just  look  out,  for  if  ye 
refuses  you'll  be  a  insultin'  of  the  whole  might  and  majesty 
of  England,  and  the  boy  Green  into  the  bargain." 

It  would  be  difficult  to  say  whether  King  Umfulli  was 
more  angry  or  more  mystified  at  the  audacity  of  boy  Green. 
One  thing  is  certain — that  no  sooner  had  that  bold  young 
ster  retired  than  he  summoned  together  all  the  chiefs  of 
his  tribe,  and  they  at  once  laid  all  their  wise  heads  to- 
gether. There  were  many  speeches  made,  much  bluster, 
and  much  brandishing  of  spears.  One  proposed  cutting 
the  head  off  boy  Green  by  way  of  simplifying  matters,  and 
a  messenger  was  actually  dispatched  to  tell  the  sailor  lad 
that  he  had  better  come  to  the  door  of  the  king's  tent  and 
submit  quietly  to  the  operation. 

"  Never,"  was  boy  Green's  reply.  "  I'll  die  first.  Be- 
sides, tell  the  king  that  I  ain't  done  dinner,  and  if  I  hadn't 
a  head  I  couldn't  write  an  order  on  the  paymaster  for  all 
the  rice  and  all  the  gunpowder." 

Whether  the  thoughts  of  rice  and  guns  had  anything  to 
do  with  the  matter  or  not  I  cannot  say.  One  thing  is 
certain,  peace  prevailed  in  the  council  of  the  king.  Um- 
fulli thought  there  must  be  something  in  it ;  besides, 
Lambabeela  had  been  very  audacious  of  late,  and  if  he 
had  now  a  chance  of  paying  him  back  he  did  not  see  why 
he  should  not  take  it. 

The  result  was  that  next  morning  Umfulli  ordered  out 
his  reserves,  his  spear-armed  impis. 

The  din,  the  shrieking,  the  tom-tom  beating,  the  clashing 

21 


322  Stanley  Grahame. 

of  spears,  and  the  hubbub  generally  would  have  confused 
a  less  bold  and  impudent  sailor  than  boy  Green,  but  he 
never  lost  his  presence  of  mind  for  a  moment.  He  was 
condescending  to  the  king,  whose  old  white  horse  he 
borrowed,  telling  Usnfulli,  through  Weir,  that  he  would  be 
pleased  now  to  review  the  troops. 

A  fearfully  imposing  array  those  ten  thousand  savage 
soldiers  made,  but,  accompanied  by  the  king,  his  chiefs, 
Weir,  and  the  Arabs,  boy  Green  rode  coolly  past  them,  and 
returned  their  salaams  with  the  air  of  a  prince. 

"  I  don't  see  no  signs  of  a  commissariat,  Tomfulli. 
Hey  ?  "  said  boy  Green. 

Umfulli's  reply  was  a  grim  and  terrible  one. 

"  They  will  live  well.  They  will  eat  the  Makalala 
men." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  boy  Green,  carelessly,  "  is  that  the  arrange- 
ment ?  Now,  as  far  as  I'm  concerned,  stooed  rabbit,  or 
beefsteak  and  honions,  would  suit  this  chicken  better." 

Of  this  great  army  boy  Green  constituted  himself  com- 
mandant. He  stuck  to  Umfulli's  old  white  horse.  If  he 
didn't  bring  him  back,  he  told  the  king,  England  might  see 
that  Umfulli  was  no  loser. 

"Oh!  that's  the  way  to  Lambabeela's  country,  is  it, 
hey  ?  "  This  is  what  boy  Green  told  the  chief  of  the  Um- 
fullis  :  "Well,  if  you  please,  we'll  go  t'other  way  round. 
We'll  houtflank  old  Lambabeela.  That's  tactics,  that's 
strategy,  that's  modern  warfare." 

A  whole  week  of  fighting  ensued.  Boy  Green  marched 
his  men  wedge-fashion  into  the  land  of  the  Makalala,  but 
he  encountered  terrible  opposition.  Men  fell  thick  and 
fast  as  leaves  in  Vallambrosa.  It  was  one  long  battle  day 
after  day,  and  almost  night  after  night,  and  ever  at  the 
head  of  the  corps  rode  boy  Green  on  his  white  charger. 
He  seemed  to  bear  a  charmed  life. 

The  last  morning's  fight  was  a  fearful  but  decisive  one. 
The  Makalala  men  fled  in  utter  confusion,  and  were  more 


Victory!  323 

than  decimated,  and  before  noon,  still  mounted  on  that 
wonderful  nag,  and  singing,  "  Britons  never,  never,  nc-ver 
shall  be  slaves,"  boy  Green  rode  into  the  village  of 
Lambabeela,  and  at  once  ordered  the  king  to  be  brought 
into  his  presence. 

The  fat  old  king  was  terribly  frightened,  and  seemed 
to  have  some  little  difficulty  in  walking.  But  he  was 
1 "  touched  up  in  the  rear,"  as  boy  Green  called  it.  Oh  ! 
not  with  a  spear,  only  with  a  pin,  but  it  was  quite  enough 
to  make  Lambabeela  jump  along  and  rub. 

Boy  Green  might  have  made  his  interview  with  the  king 
a  very  imposing  ceremony,  but  I  fear,  from  his  style  of 
address,  he  somewhat  detracted  from  the  romance  of  the 
situation.  Weir  laughingly  handed  boy  Green  an  umbrella. 

"  What's  this  ?  Hey  ?  Oh  !  the  sceptre,  is  it  ?  Well, 
it  isn't  the  sweetest  o'  perfoomery,  at  all  events." 

Then  boy  Green  seized  the  king  by  the  ear. 

"  Why  'ere's  a  ear  for  ye  !  "  said  boy  Green.  "  I  could 
get  a  'old  of  it  with  both  'ands  easy.  Stand  straight,  can't 
yer  ? "  Picks  up  a  bottle.  "  Why,  what's  he  been  a 
imbibin'of?  he  can't  walk  !"  Sniffs  the  bottle.  "Rum, 
I  do  declare;  a  drop  o'  the  very  best  ship's.  You  don't 
know  'ow  to  take  care  o'  your  little  self,  you  don't.  Oh  ! 
ye  good-for-nuffin  old  scirmudgeon  !  Don't  ,clap  yer  'ands 
behind  yer  neck ;  I  ain't  goin'  to  touch  yer,  and  ye  ain't 
goin'  to  be  hung  afore  to-morrer  mornin'.  Stan'  straight,  I 
tell  yer.  Now  what  'ave  ve  got  to  say  for  yourself, 
hey  ?  " 

"What's  the  old  idgit  mumbling  about,  Weir?"  con- 
tinued boy  Green. 

"  He  says  he  wants  a  drop  of  rum,"  replied  Weir. 

"The  old  himbecile !  Tell  'im  he'll  'ave  a  drop  to- 
morrow mornin'  fust  thing.  Six  feet  of  a  drop.  I  guess 
he  won't  want  more  arter  that.  Now  ax  'im  where  he 
keeps  his  gold  and  his  diamonds  and  sich.  In  his  ten-., 
hey  ?  Let's  go  there.'' 


324  Stanley  Grahame. 

"  Why,  I  do  declare,"  continued  boy  Green,  turning  up 
his  eyes  as  the  treasures  of  the  realm  of  the  King  of  the 
Makalala  were  spread  out  before  him,  "  there's  bushels  and 
bushels  of  nuggets  and  diamonds  !  Here's  war  hindemnity 
for  ye  !  Here's  treasure-  trove  !  Hurrah  !  I  won't  have 
to  give  Tomfulli  an  order  on  the  paymaster  yet. 
Hurrah !  " 

And,  very  much  to  the  astonishment  of  the  sedate 
Arabs  and  amusement  of  Weir,  boy  Green,  on  the  spur  ol 
the  moment,  executed  a  hornpipe  in  front  of  the  whole 
army. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Green,"  began  Weir. 

11  Who' re  you  calling  Mister  Green,  if  you  please,  hey  ? 
King  Green,  that's  me  !  "  and  the  boy  touched  his  breast 
and  drew  himself  up. 

"Well,  King  Green,"  said  Weir,  "here  are  seventy- 
seven  girls  in  this  house." 

"  I  see,"  said  King  Green  ;  "  a  very  interesting  sight.  A 
kind  of  a  girls'  school,  isn't  it — like  wot  they  'as  at  Ramsgate, 
hey  ?  " 

"  No  ;  they  were  to  have  been  executed,  every  one  of 
them." 

"Oh,  you  poor  little  dears  !  "  cried  Green  to  the  trem- 
bling girls  ;  "  I  declare  I  could  pipe  my  heye.  Take  that 
old  Foozles  out  o'  here,  I  can't  abear  the  sight  of  'im,  and 
tie  'im  up  somewheres  till  'anging  time  to-morrer.  Poor 
girls,  then  !  But  they  shan't  be  touched,  then !  Now, 
now  then,  now  !  " 

Thus  boy  Gre*en  spoke  soothingly  to  the  little  prisoners, 
prisoners  now  no  more. 

"Ha!"  cried  Weir,  "here  is  news  !  A  Somali  lad  has 
just  come  to  solicit  assistance  for  your  friend  Stanley 
Grahame  ! " 

It  was  Mbooma  that  had  rushed  breathless  into  the 
presence  of  the  boy  Green. 


XXV 

HIE  BATTLE  ON  IDA'S  ISLE— ARRIVAL  OF  BOY GKEEN 
AND  FLIGHT  OF  THE  MAK~Al.Al.AS— BACK  IN 
N1  TOO  DA'S  LA.\D. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE     BATTLE     ON     IDA'S    ISLE ARRIVAL    OF     BOY    GREEN    AND 

FLIGHT  OF  THE  MAKALALAS — BACK  IN  N'TOOBA*S  LAND. 

IT  is  no  wonder  that  many  African  travellers  doubt  or 
even  deny  the  existence,  in  the  far  interior  of  that 
Dark  Continent,  of  a  race  of  warlike  dwarfs.  They  are 
seldom  seen,  for  few  have  ventured  to  invade  the  dense 
and  almost  impenetrable  forest  lands  where  they  live,  and 
some  of  those  who  have  done  so  have  mistaken  them  for 
members  of  the  gorilla  tribe. 

And  no  wonder  ;  the  war  tactics  of  these  dwarfs  approxi- 
mate closely  to  the  habits  of  the  wild  beasts  among  which 
they  dwell.  They  never  fight  except  at  night ;  they  seldom 
move  abroad  till  after  dark.  They  eat  to  engorgement,  and 
their  meals  are  often  followed  by  long  periods  of  sleep. 
They  live  in  caves  or  holes  in  the  earth,  and  sometimes  in 
nests  or  small  houses  in  the  trees.  Their  government  is  a 
republic,  they  have  neither  king  nor  laws ;  they  are 
socialists,  nihilists — they  are  precisely  what  the  lowest  fac- 
tions of  politicians  of  our  own  country,  France,  and  Russia 
would  fain  reduce  European  society  to ;  and  it  seems  to  me 
a  pity  that  those  said  politicians  do  not  emigrate  and  live 
among  the  dwarfs  in  the  forest  lands  of  the  Dark  Continent, 
where  they  would  have  everything  precisely  as  they  wish  it. 

Stanley's  band  was  composed  of  brave,  resolute  men,  but 
it  was  not  a  numerous  one,  and  hemmed  in  by  thousands 
on  thousands  of  those  terrible  dwarfs,  it  appeared  all  but 
certain  that  not  a  man  would  ever  leave  the  forest  alive- 


328  Stanley  Grahame. 

They  encamped  themselves,  it  is  true ;  that  was  but  chang- 
ing open  warfare  for  a  state  of  siege,  if  indeed  it  could  be 
called  open  warfare  where  the  enemy  was  invisible.  For 
the  first  time  since  the  commencement  of  the  expedition 
Stanley  began  to  lose  heart. 

"  Mite,"  he  said  one  day,  "  I  fear  I'm  going  to  sicken." 

"  Oh  !  Stan,"  said  Mite,  "  don't  think  of  that.  I  say,"  he 
continued,  "  suppose  we  fire  the  forest." 

"  And  perish  in  the  flames  ! "  said  Stanley,  shaking  his 
head.  "  No,  Mite,  we  mustn't  think  of  that." 

Mbooma  had  returned.  His  news  was  far  from  re- 
assuring. The  island  was  in  a  state  of  siege,  and  he  feared 
all  upon  it  would  perish. 

The  dwarfs  got  more  audacious.  How  long  it  would  be 
before  they  actually  stormed  the  camp  Stanley  could  not  of 
course  guess.  At  best  it  could  be  but  a  few  days.  But 
one  morning  everybody  was  aroused  before  daylight  by  the 
beating  of  tom-toms,  and  the  war  shouts  of  an  approaching 
army. 

"  Stand  to  guns  and  spears,"  cried  Stanley,  "  here  they 
come,  the  Makalala  men.  Let  us  sell  our  lives  dearly,  if 
die  we  must." 

But  here  were  no  Makalala  men,  for  the  first  to  spring  to 
the  ramparts  and  jump  into  the  camp  was  Mbooma,  who 
had  been  missed  for  a  few  days. 

And  the  next  to  follow  was  N'tooba  himself — the  king 
with  the  click. 

It  would  have  done  your  heart  good  to  have  heard  the 
shout  with  which  the  good  king  was  welcomed.  Black  as 
he  was,  Stanley  didn't  hesitate  to  press  him  in  his  arms. 
He  was  black,  but  the  black  couldn't  come  off,  you  know. 

Stanley's  party  was  escorted  to  the  banks  of  Lake  Unga 
Noona  by  N'tooba's  soldiers.  There  a  camp  was  formed, 
the  sick  were  seen  to,  and  Stanley  prepared  his  iron  boat 
at  once,  and  had  her  launched,  and  manned,  and  armed. 

The  hill  that  was  fired  by  Ida  was  still  smouldering  in 


To  the  Rescue!  329 

places,  but  shouts  were  occasionally  heard  that  told  plainly 
enough  that  the  savages  had  recommenced  their  attack,  and 
war-canoes  were  hieing  here  and  there  about  the  island. 

Those  shouts  and  war-cries  were  the  sweetest  music  tc 
Stanley's  ear  that  ever  he  had  listened  to.  They  told  him 
that  Ida  and  her  father  were  still  alive.  He  shuddered 
as  he  thought  of  how  he  must  have  felt  had  he  arrived  and 
found  only  silence  reigning  on  and  around  Ida's  Isle.  He 
lost  no  time  now  in  proceeding  to  give  battle  to  the  foe. 
He  was  at  a  disadvantage,  however.  His  boat,  large  as  it 
was,  could  contain  but  few  men  compared  to  the  number  of 
savages  he  was  called  upon  to  face,  and  he  dared  not  over- 
crowd it. 

He  left  Tom  Reynolds  in  charge  of  the  camp,  and  to 
minister  to  the  sick  and  wounded.  He  took  with  him  Sool 
and  Sambo,  and  Mite  and  Cooke,  with  the  flower  of  his  own 
little  army,  to  say  nothing  of  the  boy  Mbooma. 

The  savages  at  Ida's  Isle  were  not  long  before  they  found 
out  that  a  new  danger  threatened  them.  They  desisted 
from  the  attack  on  the  mountain,  therefore,  and  prepared  to 
give  Stanley  a  warm  reception.  It  was  their  last  chance, 
and  they  knew  it.  Their  army  was  broken  up  and  beaten 
on  shore,  and  their  king  a  prisoner ;  but  with  this  island  in 
their  possession,  this  part  of  Lambabeela's  forces  had  hoped 
to  stand  their  ground  until  the  enemy  left  the  country. 

All  this  time,  it  must  be  remembered,  Stanley  knew 
nothing  of  the  boy  Green's  share  in  the  war,  and  nothing  of 
the  doings  on  the  other  side  of  the  water.  But  Mbooma, 
the  clever  Somali  lad,  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  the 
Makalala  must  be  at  war  with  some  tribe,  and  the  assist- 
ance of  that  tribe  he  determined  to  solicit. 

As  soon,  therefore,  as  the  boat  approached  the  island,  he 
dropped  quietly  over  the  side,  dived,  and  disappeared. 

"  Look,  Mite,  look  !  "  cried  Stanley,  joyfully,  pointing  to 
the  highest  rock  on  Ida's  Isle.  "  Yonder  stands  Ida  herself, 
and  her  father.  See,  she  waves  her  hand  !  " 


330  Stanley  Grahame. 

Stanley  drew  his  sword  and  waved  it  aloft 

"  On,  lads  !  "  he  cried ;  «  pull,  men,  pull  ! " 

There  were  no  more  words  spoken.  Deeds  must  now 
take  the  place  of  words. 

Sool  was  steering,  Stanley  only  waving  his  hand  occa- 
sionally to  guide  him. 

In  a  moment  more  they  will  be  round  the  point.  Both 
Cooke  and  Mite  divest  themselves  of  their  jackets,  look  to 
their  pistols,  tighten  their  waistbelts,  then  wait. 

"  Down,  men — down  !  "  shouted  Stanley. 

Next  moment  a  cloud  of  spears  from  the  war-canoes. 

Stanley  replies  by  a  volley  from  the  rifles.  His  boat 
rushes  onwards,  right  into  the  very  centre  of  the  fleet 
of  war-canoes,  several  of  which  are  sunk  with  their  living 
freights.  There  is  clashing  of  swords  and  spears,  shouting 
and  cheering,  and  the  rattling  fire  of  revolvers,  and  over  all 
smoke.  There  is  blood  on  the  water ;  the  canoes  are 
stained  with  it,  and  Stanley's  boat  is  splashed  with  the 
crimson  flood.  Many  men  on  both  sides  have  dropped 
their  weapons  and  fallen  where  they  stood,  but  in  five 
minutes  or  little  more  the  fight  on  the  lake  is  virtually  over. 
The  great  boat  is  run  on  the  sand,  and  Stanley  and  his  men, 
armed  with  drawn  swords  and  revolvers,  spring  lightly  on 
shore.  Now  the  fight  seems  to  begin  in  earnest. 

Stanley  and  Sambo  fought  back  to  back  in  the  midst  of 
that  yelling  cloud  of  savages.  Mite  and  Cooke  were  not 
far  off,  and  tall  Sool  was  swinging  his  great  Arab  sword  to 
and  fro  with  terrible  effect. 

There  is  a  gash  on  Sambo's  brow;  Stanley's  shirt  is  in- 
crimsoned  with  blood. 

It  was  soon  evident  that  the  Makalala  men  had  had 
enough  fighting,  for  a  time  at  least.  They  gave  way  and 
separated  into  two  beaten  crowds,  leaving  a  clear  pass  in 
the  centre  of  the  zig-zag  path  that  led  to  the  hilltop. 

Mite  was  first  on  the  path.  Perhaps  he  was  not  sorry  to 
get  there,  but  then  remember  he  was  only  a  very  little 


Together  Again.  351 

chap,  and,  to  do  him  justice,  he  had  fought  well,  and  the 
sword  he  now  waved  above  his  head  as  he  shouted,  "  Come 
on,  Stan,"  gave  evidence  of  having  been  used. 

The  savages  made  no  further  resistance  at  present. 
They  retreated  to  the  shelter  of  the  rocks. 

In  a  few  moments  more  Ida,  half  fainting,  was  clasped  in 
Stanley's  arms. 

"  I  thank  you,  dear  boy,"  said  old  Captain  Ross,  with  the 
tears  streaming  from  his  eyes,  "  and  I  thank  the  dear  God 
who  sent  you.  My  little  girl  and  I  never  quite  lost  hope  ; 
we  but  prayed  and  prayed  the  more;  and  the  Lord  has 
heard  us.  Ever  blessed  be  His  name  !  " 

"  But  you  are  wounded,  Stanley,"  said  Ida  with  alarm. 

"  No,''  said  Stanley ;  "  it  is  a  mere  scratch  on  the 
shoulder;  but  poor  Sambo  is." 

"  Oh,  Sambo  ! "  cried  Ida,  taking  his  work-hardened  hand 
in  hers. 

"  Oh,  Missie  Ida  !  dis  is  a  happy  day  for  poor  old  Sambo. 
He  not  sure  wedder  he  should  laugh  or  wedder  he  should 
cry  ;  he  feels  like  as  he  wants  to  do  boff." 

Stanley's  work  was  not  yet  finished.  The  savages  were 
still  in  crowds  beneath  the  rocks.  They  had  fought  their 
way  through  them,  it  is  true,  but  the  island  was  still,  to  all 
intents  and  purposes,  in  a  state  of  siege.  Men  could  have 
embarked  in  that  boat  and  sailed  away  from  Ida's  Isle,  but 
Stanley  could  not  think  of  exposing  those  he  had  come  so 
far  to  deliver  to  danger  from  the  spears  of  the  enemy.  No, 
the  Makalala  men  must  be  cleared  off  the  island,  driven 
into  the  lake. 

But  even  while  he  doubted  how  this  could  be  done,  boats 
were  reported  to  be  approaching  the  island  from  Lamba- 
beela's  side  of  the  lake. 

Canoes  with  white  men  in  them  ! 

Almost  at  the  same  time,  much  to  the  joy  of  our  heroes, 
the  war-canoes  of  the  Makalalas  were  seen  stealing  away 
from  the  island  and  taking  a  north-westerly  direction  towards 


332  Stanley  Grahame. 

the  head  of  the  lake.  They,  too,  had  seen  the  white 
men  coming,  and,  abandoning  all  further  hope  of  taking 
possession  of  Ida's  Isle,  had  crowded  into  the  few  war- 
canoes  that  remained,  and  fled  away  to  the  silent  woods. 

Stanley  Grahame,  with  Ida  by  his  side,  Mite,  and  Captain 
Ross,  all  stood  near  the  rocky  entrance  to  Ida's  garden-land 
at  the  mountain-top  anxiously  waiting,  and  wondering  what 
men  they  would  have  the  pleasure  of  welcoming.  Long 
before  a  head  appeared  in  sight  up  the  hillside,  boy  Green's 
well-known  accents  could  be  distinguished.  He  was  talk- 
ing loud  enough  to  be  heard  a  mile  away,  talking  to  Archie 
Weir,  and  now  and  then  bursting  into  a  snatch  of  his  ever- 
lasting refrain, 

"  Britons  never,  never,  ne-ver  shall  be  sa-laves.  Come 
along,  Archibald,  come  along,  old  man ;  don't  be  shy. 
We've  got  to  find  'em,  if  we  goes  to  the  moon  for  it.  Mind 
your  feet.  They're  precious  big  uns,  Archie.  Nice  large, 
useful  feet,  Archie.  Britons  never,  never,  never — Yes, 
Archie,  you  were  well  to  the  front,  old  man,  when  feet  were 
bein'  served  out.  Those  feet  of  yours  ought  to  wear  well, 
Archie,  and  the  bones  would  do  for  handspikes  when  you've 

done  wi"  them.  Hey  ?  Britons  never Wonder  what 

Stanley  '11  say  when  he  sees  me.  Hey  !  And  that  misera- 
ble little  wision  of  a  chap  they  calls  Mite  ?  Britons  never, 
never,  ne-ver~shall  be  sa-laves." 

"  If  that  isn't  boy  Green,"  said  Stanley,  laughing,  "  it's 
boy  Green's  ghost." 

"  A  pretty  way  he  talks  about  his  officer,"  said  Mite, 
drawing  himself  up  to  his  full  height,  which  wasn't  much, 
you  know,  after  all. 

"  Britons  never,  nev 1  say,  Archie,  old  chap,  there 

don't  seem  no  end  to  this  'ere  mountain.  There  don't  seem 
to  be  nary  a  top  to  the  'ill  at  all  at  all.  I  say,  though,  won't 
it  be  a  lark  when  we  does  get  up  and  finds  'em  all  at  home  ? 
Shouldn't  wonder  if  that  miserable  little  wision  of  a  Mite 
orders  me  to  go  and  get  my  'air  cut.  If  he  does,  boy  Green 


Arrival  of  Boy  Green.  333 

will  reply  in  the  language  of  Shakspeare,  when  he  were 
a-crossing  of  the  Alps  at  the  'ead  of  the  Scotch  Fusilier 
Guards,  '  Britons  never,  never,  ne-ver — shall — be — sa- 
laves.'  Hullo  !  herfc  we  are  at  the  top.  My  heye  !  'ere  is 
a  pretty  place,  quite  a  hoasis  in  the  desert,  so  to  speak. 
Now  we  descends,  you  see,  Archie,  and  yonder  comes  the 
'ole  crowd  o'  them  to  meet  us.  Wot  a  lovely  female  girl, 
to  be  sure  !  " 

Boy  Green  at  this  moment  took  his  cap  off,  not  to  bow — 
no,  no — only  to  make  a  hurried  toilet  by  putting  his  fingers 
through  his  hair.  He  even  went  so  far  as  to  wet  the  sleeve 
of  his  jacket  with  his  tongue  and  rub  his  face  therewith, 
just  as  a  pussy  would  have  done. 

"  I  say,"  he  said  anxiously  to  Weir,  "  is  my  face  weiy 
dirty,  Weir — wery,  wery  dirty  ?  Hey  !  Ladies,  you  know, 
Archie,  ladies.  There  they  all  come,  all  the  lot  on  'em, 
but  I  hain't  got  heyes  for  no  one  but  Hida." 

"  Good  morning,  ladies  and  gentlemen,"  continued  this 
audacious  boy,  stepping  forward  and  lifting  his  cap.  "  Good 
morning — leastways,  good  arternoon,  which  it  comes  all 
to  the  same  thing  in  the  hend,  as  the  pig  said  when  he 
swallered  a  string  o'  sassagers.  General  Grahame,  I  salutes 
you  ;  Mr.  Mite,  ahem ! — I  means  Captain  MacDermott,  in 
course  I  does ;  I've  come  on  board,  Captain  MacDermott  ; 
Miss  Hida,  I  bows ;  the  hold  chap's  your  guvnor,  I  'spects. 
Hey?  Captain  Ross,  I  pays  my  respects  to  you,  sir;  I 
loves  to  see  a  nice  clean  hold  man,  sir.  Oh  !  Miss  Hida, 
do  call  away  that  tiger,  he's  a-purring  round  my  legs  as  if 
he  were  going  to  suck  me  in.  I  des;ay  my  nerves  is  a 
kind  o'  upset  from  the  priwations  1'se  endured  in  the  wilder- 
ness, but  I  is  afeard  of  'im,  and  there's  no  uso  a-deny.'n' 
of  it.  I  don't  like  cats  o'  that  kidney.  Do  call  'im  off, 
miss,  please." 

"  Mammie  Sarah,"  cried  Ida,  laughing,  "  lead  poor  Sir 
Stanley  to  his  cage." 

But  when  boy  Green  and  Archie  Weir  "settled  down,'' 


334  Stanley  Grahame. 

as  the  former  called  it,  and  told  all  their  story,  then  indeed 
all  knew  that  they  had  no  small  cause  for  gratitude  to  the 
strange  madcap  boy  Green. 

He  finished  off  by  excusing  himself  thus  : 

"  Yer  see,  general,  it  seemed  to  me  like  a  temptin'  o'  Pro- 
vidence to  send  the  hexpiedition  away  'athout  a  surgeon 
and  medical  hadwiser,  so  I  determined  to  foller  and  see 
things  right.  We've  made  it  precious  'ot  for  old  King 
Kafoozlum,  I  can  tell  yer,  and,  as  the  himmortal  William 
says,  '  Hall's  well  as  hends  well.'  Miss  Hida,  if  you've  a 
morsel  o'  bread  and  cheese  in  the  larder,  miss,  or  a  pickin' 
of  a  'ambone,  me  and  my  pal  'ere  would  be  glad  of  it,  for 
we  'aven't  'ad  wot  you'd  call  a  square  meal  for  more'n  a 
week,  miss." 

"  Oh !  mussy  on  me ! "  cried  Mammie  Sarah,  "  de  poor 
leetle  boy  must  be  drefful  hungry.  Mammie  Sarah  run 
plenty  quick  and  make  de  curry  for  de  leetle  boy,  and  all 
de  rest  of  de  white  folks." 

Ida  was  thanking  Weir  for  all  his  goodness. 

"  I  assure  you,  Miss  Ross,  you  have  only  boy  Green  to 
thank,"  replied  Weir.  "  I  might  have  got  up  an  expedition, 
but  he  took  the  matter  entirely  out  of  my  hands.  I  could 
never  have  secured  the  services  of  the  Sultan  of  Lamoo  as 
he  did.  I  have  met  many  strange  lads  in  my  time,  but 
nothing  to  equal  the  cool  audacity  of  this  boy  Green."  • 

"  Well,"  put  in  boy  Green,  "  ye  needn't  begin  to  abuse  a 
feller  now.  Wot  you  calls  cheek  is  merely  tactics,  and  what 
you  terms  howdausity  is  only  another  name  for  strategy. 
Tactics  and  strategy,  them's  the  words,  Mr.  Weir.  Silence, 
sir,  when  you  speaks  to  a  hofficer, — go  and  get  your  'air 
cut." 

Mammie  Sarah  determined  to  excel  herself  that  day  in 
making  curry.  She  got  Sambo  to  assist  her  to  "  lay  de 
cloff "  and  make  everything  presentable  for  the  "  'stocracy 
and  gentry,"  as  she  called  Captain  Ross  and  his  guests,  and 
a  happier  party  never  surrounded  a  board  than  that  which 


Tlie  Last  of  Ida's  Isle.  335 

sat  down  to  dinner  'in  the  evening  in  Ida's  is.1*.  What 
though  the  plates  were  wood,  and  the  forks  and  spoons  of 
the  same  "  metal "  ?  what  though  the  drinking  utensils 
were  but  carefully  fashioned  cocoa-nut  shells,  the  wine  but 
cocoa-nut  milk  ?  all  were  happy — all  were  even  merry. 

But  when  dinner  was  finished  and  day  beginning  to  give 
place  to  the  short  evening  gloaming,  they  all  assembled,  both 
white  men  and  black,  in  the  bungalow  parlour,  and 
prayers  were  offered  up  to  Him  who  had  brought  surcease 
of  sorrow  to  the  poor  prisoners  who  had  pined  so  long 
in  slavery,  and  a  blessing  was  begged  for  the  successful 
termination  of  the  expedition. 

When  the  stars  shone  out,  and  were  reflected  in  the  dark 
waters  of  Unga  Noona,  when  fireflies  were  dancing  hither 
and  thither  among  the  trees  in  Ida's  garden,  Stanley  and 
she  wandered  there  all  alone,  and  hand  in  hand  as  they  had 
done  at  Beaumont  Park  when  both  were  children. 

u  Yes,"  Stanley  was  saying,  "  I  knew  you  would  forgive 
me ;  but,  dear  Ida,  I  have  never,  through  all  thea .2  years, 
forgotten  the  cruel  words — -cruel,  ungrateful  words — I  used 
to  you  that  day  I  left  Beaumont  Park.  But  I  knew  I  had 
only  to  ask  your  forgiveness  in  order  to  obtain  it." 

Next  day  was  a  day  of  exodus  from  Ida's  Isle.   All  did 
not  leave,  though.     Only  Mammie  Sarah  and  one  or  two  of 
the  others.     The  rest  preferred  to  stay  on  the  island,  and 
look  after  Ida's  garden  and  Ida's  pets. 

Mbooma  was  left.  He  begged  to  be  left.  He  did  not 
fear  the  Makalala.  Perhaps,  he  said,  he  himself  would 
soon  be  king,  but  he  begged  as  a  last  favour  that  Captain 
Ross  would  leave  his  telescope  with  him,  a  favour  that  I 
need  hardly  say  was  readily  granted. 

Then  the  expedition  started  back  through  the  forest  on 
the  return  journey. 

N'tooba's  men  guarded  them  safely  past  the  country  of 
the  dwarfs,  and  in  the  lovely  country  of  this  good  king 
they  sojourned  for  many,  many  weeks,  in  order  to  obtain 


336  Stanley  Grahame. 

the  rest  they  all  so  much  needed.  Here  poor  Big  Bill 
breathed  his  last. 

He  never  recovered  the  effects  of  the  wounds  he  had 
received  at  the  hands  of  those  fearful  dwarfs. 

"  I  know  I'm  dying,"  he  said  to  Stanley,  who  sat  by  his 
bedside  in  his  rude  grass  hut.  "  Better  me  than  you  or 
Mite,  Stan.  I'm  older,  and  I've  nothing  much  to  live  for. 
Ah  !  there  are  better  worlds  than  this,  and  Bill  will  be 
welcome  in  that  far-off  happy  country  we  read  of  in  the 
good  Book,  Stan.  Good-bye.  Pray  for  me,  as  you  always 
have.  Tell  that  dear,  sweet  girl,  Ida,  to  pray — how  dark 
the  tent  gets,  Stan — how  dark  !  Ah  !  this  is  death,  Stan  ! 
This  is " 

His  honest  heart  had  ceased  to  beat. 

There  is  a  great  banian-tree,  that  grows  in  a  green  glade 
not  far  from  N'tooba's  village.  Under  the  shade  of  that 
tree  sleeos  Big  Bill — 

"Sleeps  the  sleep  that  knows  no  breaking, 

Morn  of  toil,  nor  night  of  waking." 
***** 

Boy  Green,  with  his  man}'  queer  ways  and  quaint  say- 
ings, made  himself  a  favourite  with  every  one.  His  devotion 
to  Ida  was  extreme.  He  was  ever  planning  some  pleasant 
surprise  for  her.  He  roamed  through  the  forest  fearlessly 
and  alone,  and  ever  brought  the  "  spoils  of  the  chase,"  as  he 
termed  the  contents  of  his  shooting-bag,  to  her  tent.  Or 
he  would  angle  in  the  river  for  strange  fish,  and  bring  them 
as  a  present  to  Ida.  Failing  these,  he  brought  her  flowers. 

"  I  allers  feels,"  he  told  her  one  day,  "  when  I'm  along- 
side o'  you,  Miss  Hida,  as  how  my  hedication  has  been 
shamefully  neglected.  I  carn't  talk  the  Henglish  langwidgc 
in  hall  its  native  purity." 

Poor  boy  Green  !  he  was  last  seen  in  the  jaws  of  a  man- 
eating  lion,  being  borne  off  towards  the  forest.  As  the  lion 
went  bounding  through  the  camp,  boy  Green  was  seen  to 


Farewells.  337 

wave  his  arms,  and  heard  to  utter  some  words  that  sounded 
very  like  these  : 

"  Good-bye — hall — Miss  Hida — Sultan's  boys — horder  on 
the  paymaster — Britons  never,  nev •" 

No  one  heard  more.  But  deep  was  the  sorrow  in  the 
camp,  and  Ida  herself  was  inconsolable  for  days  and  weeks 
thereafter.  Every  available  soldier  in  N'tooba's  country 
was  turned  out  to  scour  the  forest.  They  brought  back  the 

boy's  cap,  that  was  all." 

*  *  *  * 

The  day  for  leaving  N'tooba's  land  came  round  at  last, 
and  the  kindly  king  shed  tears  that  he  took  no  pains  to 
hide. 

"  I  shall  miss  you  all,"  he  said,  "  and  life  to  poor  N'tooba 
will  only  hang  now  on  the  hopes  of  seeing  some  of  you 
once  again." 

This  was  said  with  quite  a  large  number  of  clicks.  I 
think  the  clicks  seemed  in  some  way  or  other  to  reliev* 
his  feelings. 

And  so  the  expedition  started  away  for  the  coast. 

"  Good-bye,  and  God  bless  you  all,"  said  Tom  Reynolds. 
"  You  will  say  all  to  my  people  I  told  ^ou.  Henceforth 
and  for  years  my  home  will  be  here.  Here  with  this  good 
people,  here  with  this  king,  I  have  a  mission  to  fulfil,  the 
very  thought  of  which  fills  all  my  soul  with  joy." 

"  Good-bye." 

."  Good-bye." 

"  Good-bye." 


XXVI 


HOMEWARD  BOUND— THE  CRYSTAL  BO  AT— A 
PLEASANT  SURPRISE. 


CHAPTER  XXVL 

HOMEWARD    BOUND — THE     CRYSTAL     BOAT — A   PLEASANT 
SURPRISE. 

NOT  a  large  ship  by  any  means.  Though  only  seven 
hundred  tons,  she  was  nevertheless  as  bonnie  a 
barque  as  ever  sailed  the  seas.  She  is  moving  slowly 
out  of  Zanzibar  Harbour,  with  every  stitch  of  canvas  set, 
for  the  wind,  although  favourable,  is  but  light.  It  is  a 
glorious  day ;  the  sea  and  sky  are  the  bluest  of  blue,  the 
white  houses  on  shore  seem  built  of  marble,  and  so  brightly 
do  they  stand  out  in  the  sunshine,  that  the  shadows  they 
throw  seem  black  by  contrast.  The  Tonitru  is  lying  at 
anchor, — 

"As  idle  as  a  painted  ship 
Upon  a  painted  ocean." 

The  quarter-deck  is  crowded  with  officers  in  blue  and  white 
and  gold  ;  the  brass  band  is  there  too,  and  over  the  rippling 
sea,  with  a  weird  tremolo  born  of  the  waves  they  cross, 
come  the  sweet,  sad  notes  of  that  fine  old  song — 

"Good-bye,  sweetheart,  good-bye." 

Oh,  dear!  I  must  throw  down  my  pen,  seize  my  violin 
and  play  it  over  and  over  again ;  and  the  music  has  had 
this  effect  upon  me — that  I  am  fully  en  rapport  with  my 
subject,  and  could  spend  a  good  hour  describing  the  depar- 
ture of  the  good  ship  that  bore  my  heroine  and  heroes  back 
to  their  far-off  homes. 

"  Parting  is  such  sweet  sorrow  " 


342  Stanley  Grahame. 

Mite  is  not  on  the  quarter-deck ;  he  is  out  standing  there 
against  the  blue,  on  the  very  point  of  the  flying  jibboom, 
waving  his  handkerchief  to  his  brother  Stan — and,  reader, 
I  am  not  at  all  sure  that  the  handkerchief  is  not  somewhat 
damp. 

Poor  Mite !  he  would  have  given  anything  he  possessed 
to  have  been  able  to  go  home  in  the  ship  with  Stanley ; 
but  service  is  service — he  could  not. 

And  now  a  point  of  land  hides  the  barque  from  the 
anchored  man-o'-war,  and  in  a  few  hours  there  is  nothing 
around  the  former  but  the  silence  of  the  mighty  deep. 
Ross  is  captain  of  this  gallant  barque ;  Cooke  is  first 
lieutenant,  or  chief  mate,  as  they  call  that  officer  in  the 
merchant  navy ;  Stanley  Grahame  is  second  officer ;  and 
who  do  you  think  is  bo'swain  ?  Why,  none  other  than  our 
good  friend  Sambo. 

And  here  is  Mammie  Sarah.  She  has  been  rated 
stewardess,  but  at  the  same  time  she  will  see  after  the 
concoction  of  the  curry  for  the  cabin,  for  I  do  not  believe 
any  one  ever  did  make  such  delightful  curry  as  Mammie 
Sarah. 

Very  beautiful  Ida  Ross  looks  now  as  she  lounges  in  her 
ehair,  book  in  hand,  on  the  snow-white  quarter-deck ;  very 
beautiful  and  very  happy  also,  for  now  she  is  safe,  and  her 
father,  and — yes,  and  Stanley  is  safe,  and  all  the  years  of 
her  sorrow  and  suffering  are  to  her  now  but  like  the 
memory  of  some  awful  dream. 

Not  only  Ida,  but  every  soul  on  board,  seems  happy  and 
contented,  and  even  gay,  for  lo  !  the  ship  is  homeward- 
bound.  Ay,  and  the  ship  appears  to  know  it,  and  to  feel 
happy  in  consequence. 

A  sailing  ship  she  is;  no  grind  and  gride  of  terrible 
wheels  are  here,  no  showers  of  smut  and  sifted  coal-dust  to 
throw  spot  and  speck  on  her  snowy  decks  or  disfigure  the 
bright  tablecloth  that  adorns  the  saloon  table.  She  is  clad 
in  canvas  from  deck  to  truck  stunsails  low  and  aloft,  and 


HOMKWARt)    : 


Homeward  Bound.  343 

looks  as  gay  as  village  maiden  on  her  wedding  morn  ;  and 
as  she  goes  swinging  along  she  seems  to  beck  and  bow  and 
toy  and  coquette  with  the  billows,  as  if  keeping  time  to  the 
song  of  the  merry  sailors,  which  rises  time  after  time, 

"  With  a  hey  !  my  lads,  and  a  ho  !  ray  men, 
For  we  are  homeward  bo— o — ound, 
For  we — e — e  are  homeward  bound." 
*  *  *  *  • 

Once  upon  a  time,  my  dear  boy  readers,  there  was  a 
certain  great  prince  who  lived  in  a  beautiful  palace  in  one 
of  the  most^  romantic  and  lovely  districts  of  Araby  the 
Blest.  He  was  not  a  very  old  prince,  but  he  was  very 
brave  and  very  good,  and  even  old  men  with  long,  long 
grey  beards  bent  their  heads  before  him  and  ministered 
to  him,  and  told  him  tales  and  stories  of  all  kinds,  more 
wonderful  by  far  than  even  those  you  read  about  in  the 
Arabian  Nights'  Entertainments — that  is  to  say,  if  any- 
thing could  be  more  wonderful  than  these  strange,  strange 
tales. 

But,  for  all  this,  the  young  prince  was  not  happy. 

"  I  am  tired  of  these  wild  woods,"  he  said,  "  tired  of  the 
splendid  scenery  that  is  everywhere  around  me,  tired  of 
the  gardens,  my  pets,  and  my  palace,  tired  even  of  you, 
most  potent,  grave,  and  reverend  seigneurs,  and  even  of 
your  old-world  tales.  I  want  to  go  out  into  the  world  and 
see  things  myself.  I  want  to  be  in  the  very  thickest  and 
hottest  parts  of  the  most  dreadful  fights.  I  want  to  see 
the  most  terrible  storms  that  can  rage  and  the  wildest  seas. 
I  want  to  see  adventures  of  every  kind  imaginable.  I  can- 
not stay  longer  in  this  palace;  I  must  go." 

"  But,"  cried  the  old  men,  "  think,  beloved  prince,  think 
of  your  kingdom,  think  of  those  you  leave  behind  to  mourn. 
Without  the  sunshine  of  your  presence,  everything  that  you 
now  see  around  you  will  fade  and  die  in  the  darkness  of 
grief,  and  if  ever  you  returned  from  your  wanderings  none 
would  be  left  alive  to  welcome  you  back.  Your  gardens 


344  Stanley  Grahame. 

would  be  a  wilderness  and  your  splendid  palace  a  jackal- 
haunted  ruin." 

And  the  boy  prince  did  think  of  all  this,  and  did,  like  a 
man,  resolve,  for  the  sake  of  his  people,  to  stay  at  home ; 
but,  nevertheless,  he  often  sighed  to  think  of  all  the 
countries  there  were  in  the  would  that  he  could  never 
see,  and  all  the  wild  adventures  that  he  could  never 
enter  into.  He  sighed  by  day,  and  at  night  he  used 
to  dream  and  start  in  his  sleep,  and  clutch  an  imaginary 
sword,  and  do  all  kinds  of  antics,  that  simply  had  the  effect 
of  disarranging  the  bedclothes,  and  sending  the  pillow  on 
to  the  floor,  but  did  not  make  the  prince  a  bit  happier. 

But  one  day  there  came  to  the  palace  a  very,  very,  very 
old  magician.  He  carried  a  long  stick  to  keep  his  nose  of! 
the  ground,  because  he  was  bent  double  by  reason  of  his 
extreme  age.  His  hair  was  as  white  as  the  snow  on  Ben 
Nevis,  and  so  long  that  he  almost  trampled  upon  it  as  he 
walked. 

He  was  brought  into  the  prince's  presence,  for  he  had 
that  to  tell  him  which  no  other  ear  dare  listen  to. 

"  You  wish  to  see  the  world  ? "  he  said  to  the  prince. 
"  Well,  I  will  present  you  with  a  beautiful  boat — a  magic 
boat,  with  bottom  and  sides  and  masts  and  sails  of  glass 
purer  than  crystal  or  even  diamonds  !  When  you  want  to 
see  a  battle  or  a  s^orm,  or  a  fight  at  sea  or  on  land,  all  you 
will  have  to  do  will  be  to  go  into  this  beautiful  boat,  and 
sit  down  in  its  splendid  saloon,  and  it  will  sail  away  with 
you  through  the  air  wherever  you  wish,  and  you  will  only 
have  to  look  through  the  crystal  sides  or  bottom  of  your  boat 
in  order  to  see  and  hear  everything  that  goes  on  around 
you  ! " 

"  And  will  it  be  safe  ?  "  asked  the  prince. 

"Yes,"  said  the  aged  magician  ;  "it  will  be  safe.  No 
power  on  earth  can  injure  you  in  your  beautiful  boat,  for, 
while  you  will  be  able  to  see  everything  through  its  crystal 
sides,  no  creature  nor  thing  will  be  able  to  see  or  injure  you." 


The   Crystal  Boat.  345 

Then  the  young  prince  was  exceedingly  glad,  and  behold! 
the  aged  magician  was  as  good  as  his  word.  He  brought 
the  prince  the  crystal  boat,  and  away  sailed  the  prince 
through  the  air.  And  there  was  no  place — not  even  the 
most  remote — that  he  could  not  journey  to  ;  nor  was  there 
anything  he  could  not  see  from  this  wonderful  crystal  boat ; 
and  whenever  he  was  tired  of  sight-seeing  or  witnessing 
storms  or  wild  adventures,  he  had  but  to  wish,  and  lo  and 
behold  !  without  even  having  to  say,  "  Hey,  presto  1 "  he 
was  back  again  in  his  own  home. 

Do  you  not  envy  that  prince  in  his  crystal  boat,  reader  ? 
Would  you  not  like  to  have  such  another  beautiful  boat  ? 
Well,  you  have  such  a  boat,  for  such  boats  are  merely  books, 
in  which,  while  reclining  in  your  easy-chair  in  the  winter 
evenings,  or  out  on  the  green  grass  in  summer,  or  on  the 
clovery  leas,  you  can  see,  as  through  a  glass,  all  things  that 
are  passing  or  have  passed  in  the  wondrous  world  I  n  which 
we  live.  You  and  I  for  the  last  many  months  have  been 
sailing  together  in  this  magic  crystal  boat,  and  together  we 
have  mingled  in  many  strange  and  wild  adventures, — I  as 
the  pilot,  you  as  the  passenger.  But  all  things  have  an 
end.  We  are  back  once  again  in  the  dear  old  country, — in 
the  land  that  gave  us  birth, — and  pilot  and  passenger  must 
part. 

But  ere  we  shake  hands  and  say  "good-bye,"  let  us  take 
one  more  little  cruise  in  our  crystal  boat,  just  to  see  how 
fares  it  with  our  heroes  and  our  heroines,  about  two  years 
after  the  barque,  homeward-bound,  sailed  away  from 
Zanzibar. 

I  have  said  heroines,  the  plural ;  well,  I  want  to  be 
exact,  for  although  Ida  Ross  is  really  and  truly  our  chief 
heroine,  we  must  not  altogether  forget  the  wild  woman, 
Weir,  who  first  met  Stanley  Grahame,  the  boy,  on  the 
hobgoblin  moor,  and  took  pity  on  him  in  his  loneliness,  and 
kindly  tended  him  for  a  night  at  least. 

Ah'.but  Jean    is  daft  no  longer  now,  nor  does  she  live 


346  Stanley  Grahame. 

among  smugglers  in  the  eirde  house  on  the  moor.  Jean 
is  sane  and  quiet.  Her  son  has  returned ;  she  has  found 
the  lost  one.  Ought  I  to  call  him  the  prodigal  son  ?  No  ; 
for,  with  all  his  faults,  Archie  loved  his  mother,  and  a  sweet 
thing  is  filial  love. 

They  live  now  in  the  little  cottage  that  erst  was  inhabited 
by  Stanley's  mother  and  sister,  and  Archie,  the  roving 
sailor,  tills  the  farm  by  the  great  forest  of  Cairntrie.  He 
not  only  tills  the  farm, — which  -is  a  small  one, — but  he  is 
one  of  the  head  keepers  in  the  forest,  and  may  be  met  there 
any  day.  But  on  Sundays  Archie  always  goes  to  church 
with  the  old  lady.  She  is  getting  frail,  and  Archie  very 
dutifully  gives  her  his  arm.  She  always  rolls  her  Bible  up 
in  her  clean  white  pocket-handkerchief,  and  always  carries 
on  top  thereof  a  little  bit  of  southernwood,  which  keeps  her 
awake  on  warm  days.  So  we  bid  them  good-bye,  and, 
embarking  once  more  in  our  crystal  boat,  go  gliding  away 
over  the  wide  Atlantic  Ocean. 

You  know  whither  we  are  bound  without  being  told. 
Yes,  here  we  are  at  the  lovely  plantation  at  Beaumont 
Park. 

Well,  except  that  yonder  stalwart  man  who,  with  gun  on 
shoulder,  ^s  just  returning  from  the  woods  is  Stanley 
Grahame,  and  yonder  bright-faced,  beautiful  lady  who  runs 
to  meet  him  is  his  young  wife,  Ida,  there  does  not  seem  to 
be  very  much  change  about  the  place. 

Hark  !  a  manly  voice  singing  a  darkie  song  in  the  wood — 

"  We  hunt,  as  of  old,  for  the  'possum  and  the  'coon, 

By  the  meadow,  the  sea,  and  the  shore  ; 
We  dance  once  more  by  the  glimmer  of  the  moon, 
Near  the  bench  by  the  old  cottage  door." 

That  is  Sambo ;  there  is  no  mistaking  him.  See,  he 
goes  up  to  an  ancient  darkie  lady  who  is  sitting  in  the  sun- 
shine among  the  roses  and  creepers,  that  twine  around  the 
door  of  her  hut. 

"  Yah,  yah  ! "  laughs  Sambo,     "  And  so  there  you  is,  ole 


The  Coming  Guests.  347 

Mainmie  Sarah ;  and  you  does  look  so  happy,  witn  your 
book  and  your  glasses,  that — yah,  yah  1  this  chile  must  stoo 
and  laugh  !  Yah,  yah,  yah  !  " 

"  Go  'long,  do  ! "  says  Mammie  Sarah.  "  Don't  laugh 
like  dat;  you  make  your  mouf  ever  so  much  bigger! 
Besides,  sah,  you  should  have  some  'spect  for  ladies,  sah  ! '' 

And  here  comes  old  Captain  Mackinlay,  arm-in-arm  with 
Captain  Ross,  to  meet  Ida  and  her  handsome  husband. 
They  both  look  as  hale  and  hearty  as  if  they  were  merely 
the  brothers  of  the  youthful  pair  before  them — brothers  who 
had  by  some  chance  stayed  out  all  night  in  the  woods  in 
winter  and  had  their  hair  and  beards  turned  white  with 
hoar-frost. 

"  Well,  children,"  says  Mackinlay,  "  and  have  you  made 
all  preparations  for  the  coming  guests  ?" 

"That  we  have!"  said  Ida;  "and  right  glad  will  we  be 
to  see  poor  Mr.  Cooke  and  Captain  MacDermott." 

"Oh!"  cried  Stanley,  laughing,  "don't  let  us 'captain' 
him;  he  must  just  be  'Mite'  as  of  old;  and  if  he  doesn't 
behave  himself  like  a  good  little  boy,  why,  I  shall  have  to 
pull  his  ears  and  pack  him  off  to  bed  at  nine  o'clock." 

"And  so  you  are  going  all  the  way  down»to  R to 

meet  him,  are  you  ?  "  said  Captain  Ross. 

"  Yes,  we  must,"  replied  Stanley. 

"  We  must,"  said  Mackinlay;  "pray  who  are  the  we?" 

"  Why,  Ida  and  Sissy  and  I,"  said  Stanley,  smiling,  and 
putting  one  arm  tenderly  round  his  wife. 

"  Well,  well,  well,"  said  Ross  ;  "  but  you'll  take  care  of 
them,  I  know,  and  don't  be  long  away." 

"  In  two  days  we'll  be  all  back  again,"  said  Stanley,  "  and 
then  I  guess  you  won't  have  a  very  easy  life,  either  of 
you,  for  a  month.  We  mean  to  turn  the  whole  plantation 
upside-down." 

-"  Yah  !  yah  !  yah  I "  laughed  Sambo  ;  "  and,  gcmlems,  I 
is  a-going  too,  I  'ssure  you  of  dat  fact.  I  is  a  going  wid 
young  massa  and  missus  to  help  to  carry  all  de  pretty 


348  Stanley   Grahame. 

tings  dey  means  to  buy  in  de  pretty  towns  dey  means  to 
visit.     Dat  is  so,  I  'ssure  you  once  again,  gemlems." 

Captain  Ross  pulled  out  a  letter  with  some  queer-looking 
foreign  stamps  on  it. 

It  was  from  Stanley's  cousin,  Tom  Reynolds,  the  mis- 
sionary. 

It  was  written  on  very  thin  paper,  and  was  fully  fifteen 
pages  long,  so  of  course  I  cannot  tell  you  all  that  was  in  it. 
'But  it  was  a  very  happy  and  very  pleasant  letter.  It 
breathed  peace  and  purity. 

Tom  sent  his  love  to  everybody,  and  so  did  the  old  king 
— the  king  with  the  click.  The  old  king  said,  moreover, 
that  he  lived  only  in  the  hope  of  visiting  his  old  friends  at 
Beaumont  Park.  But  one  piece  of  information  which  he 
sent  was  very  startling.  It  was  that  Mbooma,  or  boy 
Brown,  was  now  king  of  the  warlike  Makalala,  and  the 
nation  was  at  peace  with  all  the  tribes  around. 

**•**# 

The  meeting  of  Stanley  and  Mite  was  a  very  happy  one. 

Mite  was  the  boy  all  over,  and  he  spent  the  whole  evening 
in  doing  nothing  but  plan,  plan,  planning  all  the  fun  and 
sport  he  should  have  at  Beaumont  Park  and  the  wild 
country  that  adjoined  it. 

"  For  don't  forget,  Stan,"  he  said,  "  that  I  have  six  months' 
leave,  and  I  mean  to  spend  every  day  of  it  with  you,  old 
boy." 

"  Yah  !  yah  !  yah  ! "  laughed  Sambo.  "  I'se  so  happy 
too." 

"  Shake  hands  again,  Stan,  old  man.  Shake  hands,  Sambo. 
Oh  !  it  is  jolly,  and  so  like  old  times." 

A  day  or  two  after  the  meeting  of  the  three  old  friends, 
Mite,  Stanley,  and  Cooke,  they  were  seated  together  by  an 
old  tree  in  the  beautiful  park.  Presently  two  strangers, 
both  very  young  men,  sauntered  along  and  sat  them  down 
beside  the  tree,  with  their  backs  to  Stanley  and  his  friends. 

The  seat  was  public  property,   so  no   notice  was  at  first 


A  Pleasant  Surprise.  349 

taken  of  the   matter,    but   a   moment  or   two  afterwards 
Stanley  started,  and  looking  at  Mite,  held  up  his  forefinger. 
"  Listen  !  "  he  whispered — "  that  voice  !  " 
And  the  following  are  the  words  they  heard  : — 
"Waal,  as  I  were  a-telling  you,  the  lion  he  grabbed  me, 
and  away  he  walks  me — oh  !  just  as  easy  as  a  cat  would 
march  off  with  a  mouse.     I  guessed  it  were  all  up  with  me 
then,  I  assure  you.     I  felt  a  kind   o'  wexed,  too,  to  think  I 
was  to  die  so  young,  and  wasn't  good  for  anything  else  but 
for  cat's-meat,  as  ye  might  say.     But  away  goes  the  lion, 
and  away  goes  I  in  his  mouth,  as  in  dooty  bound,  ye  see. 
Waal,  into  the  forest  we  goes,  and  just  as  he  were  a-putting 
me  down,  and  a-licking  of  his  lips,  vy  all  at  vonct — 

Stanley  sprang  up,  and  Mite  sprang  up,  and  Cooke 
sprang  up. 

"It  is  the  boy  Green  !"  they  all  cried  in  a  breath,  and 
round  the  tree  they  ran,  and  sure  enough  they  were  right, 
for  there  he  sat  just  as  self-possessed  as  ever,  just  as 
impudent,  just  as  saucy. 

The  identical  boy  Green  again! 


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Return  this  material  to  the  library 

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